#courtland gentry

[lostinwildflowers]

Wonderful Tonight | Epilogue

Summary: The mission is over, and the target is dead. You don't know how things stand between you and Six - but there's only one way to find out.

Word Count: 5.0K

Chapter Warnings: mentions of the mafia/guns/weaponry/bioweapons/alcohol/drugs, mentions of blood/gore/violence/the black market/sex trafficking, some sexual innuendos/jokes, some harsh language/swearing, some angst/mutual pining/hurt-comfort, but fluff for the most part, anxious tendencies, Six is way too much of a little shit for me to handle

A/N: Hello my darlings! Here is the FINAL part of my beloved "mini series"! This is series has been one of my absolute FAVORITE things I have ever written and is truly my pride and joy. As always, please give me all of the comments and feedback, come scream at me! - Birch <3

Series Masterlist

Moodboards

The whirring of the incoming helicopter is both a relief and a stressor. It had taken over 20 minutes for the first boatful of CIA operatives to make it to Petalas - the men and women aboard the ship waiting in the middle of the ocean for your signal to come in.

But now, with the helicopter landing on the beach and agents clothed in black swarming the resort, you wanted nothing more than some peace and quiet. It had been a successful mission - Six did as the two of you were assigned and killed Bad Brad and The Lion.

It was a greater win, though, as dozens of businessmen and women were swept away by the CIA. There were innumerable amounts of people involved with the black market present. Somewhere between the sex trafficking and the thousands of pounds of drugs, there were countless criminals being escorted onto a prison-transport ship.

There’s a small part of you that is proud of what you and Six accomplished - taking out some of the bad men in the world who make bad things happen. Another, larger part of you, wants to vomit. 

You can see three easily recognizable heads being escorted away, hands cuffed behind their backs. The three women are victims and perpetrators. You know deep down, it isn’t their fault. They are good people. 

But when their lives are being toyed with outside of their hands, they would do anything to protect them.

A constant buzz seems to fill your mind, exhaustion from the night seeping in. You’ve found yourself slowly pulling away from the crowd of operatives, slinking down the length of the beach to where the world is quieter.

The sun is rising now - the dark of the midnight op blur into the edges of a pink sunrise. The warmth of the golden rays makes your (colored) eyes flutter shut as a warm, salty breeze hits your nose.

You focus on the crash of the waves, the roar of the water before it sizzles next to your bare feet, heels long since discarded. Your ankle is grateful for that, the coolness of both the sand and the water a welcome reprieve for the heat coursing through it. The sand is damp underfoot, the frothy but clear ocean water soaking the hem of your emerald gown.

There hadn’t been a chance to change into more comfortable clothes once backup had arrived. It was a mirage of: get the bad guys put away, get all fresh intel from you and Six, and lock down the island until everyone was approved to leave. 

Thankfully, those who took statements from you and Six had the decency to allow you to clean the blood off yourselves. Six, more so than you, but you still appreciated wiping the dried blood off of your forehead and busted lip.

Six had taken longer, needing several towels to remove the blood and gory matter from his arms, face, and neck. He didn’t want treatment for his wounds, even though you had given him a stern look. You could tell he was tired - of both dealing with people’s questions and the exertion from the mission.

While he had cleaned up, you found a piece of ribbon to tie your hair up out of your face, the (colored) locks overstimulating your already shot-out nervous system. A few unruly pieces hang around your face, but you try to ignore the feeling of them bumping against your cheeks.

The wind picks up as a few stray gulls fly overhead, the warm orange and pink rays from the sun illuminating their graceful forms. It makes a tired smile tug on your lips, and you take a slow, deep breath, trying to internalize the beauty of the island’s morning.

A sigh can be heard behind you, and you swivel your head lazily to catch sight of Six’s figure behind you, a soft look in his eye. His blue gaze is half-lidded as he watches you, but there is a distinct twinkle in it that you know isn’t just from the rising sun.

The clear blue water of the ocean matches the shade in his eyes as you slowly pick your way over to the bearded blonde. The water catches on your dress, but you don’t care as you stare up at him. 

The blood covering the bearded blonde has been thoroughly washed away, leaving Six in just his black button-up and matching trousers. Gone is the tactical vest and his boots - his feet are barefoot in the sand just as yours are. There are a few more buttons undone, the material darkened with water from where Six must have swiped a damp cloth, and the chain around his neck is gone, soiled with gore.

You won’t complain about the view - Six, hair mussed and falling into his eyes, semi-relaxed on the beach? It’s the calmest you’ve seen him since you’d left the States.

He cocks his head at you slightly while raising an eyebrow, murmuring, “Want to sit?” His voice is low and hard to hear over the crashing of waves against the pale sandstone, but you give him a wide smile and silently nod in response.

The two of you move a little further down the beach, further away from the prying eyes you know are likely watching. Six halts a moment later, ungracefully plopping onto the cool, white sand with a heavy groan.

You can’t stifle the chuckle that falls from your lips as you chide, “I told you, you should have gotten those wounds checked out.” The bearded blonde shoots you a playfully sharp gaze as he begrudgingly offers you a rough hand.

Carefully, you rest your palm in his, delicately wrapping your fingers around his hand as you sink to the ground next to him. A pained groan of your own falls from your lips as a wave curls up toward you and Six, the foamy water brushing your toes before receding.

Quickly, he frowns at you as his blue gaze dances over your body in worry. He then questions you, “I thought you said you were alright? That didn’t sound alright to me.” You tear your gaze away from Six as you glance at your ankle, which is slightly swollen. You sigh defeatedly, and you know you’ve been caught.

“Okay, so maybe my ankle was in worse shape than I originally thought it was,” you mumble quietly, your heart fluttering in your chest when you feel his grip tightening on yours. You know there’s a frown on his face, but you can’t bring yourself to look up at him when you hear him mumble out, “You should have told me, Y/n.”

You can hear the concern in his voice, and you let your eyes flutter shut as you grumble, “I know, I know. But we weren’t on the greatest of terms after…” Your voice trails off, and you feel heat flood your face as you look up at the bearded blonde.

A recognition flits over his face, and there’s a look of sorrow that draws his brows together. He parts his mouth to respond, but you cut him off, squeezing his hand back as you reply, “It’s fine, I made it out in one piece. I’ll just need to stay off it when we get home.”

There’s a look of annoyance in Six’s gaze that you know isn’t super serious - he likely was more mad at himself than at you. You offer him another gentle squeeze of your intertwined hands, and his expression drifts from annoyed to a grimace as a hiss falls from his mouth and he looks at his hand.

Instantly, you catch sight of his busted knuckles. The backside of his hand is darkened with angry red and purple marks that you know must be painful. On each knuckle, there are the beginnings of scabs, the skin splintered and ripped open, but thankfully not bleeding.

A frown immediately draws on your face, and you carefully bring your second hand up to cup his palm. You inhale through your nose before whispering, “Six, this-” “Is not the worst I’ve had,” he mumbles gently, now the one to cut you off.

His gaze is on your intertwined hands, and he returns your action, giving your hand a soft squeeze before looking up at you. There is a tender understanding in his stormy gaze as the pain dissipates, one that makes your stomach lurch in surprise. Still, your brows furrow in a sad frustration, and you glance down at your lap in thought.

Then, a thought comes to you. You gingerly set his hand in your lap, pulling your legs closer to your chest as your hands mess with the hem of your skirt. You can feel Six start to pull his hand away, so you rush out, “Just wait,” your hands working faster to find a relatively undisturbed part of your dress.

With as much strength as you can muster, you grip the emerald fabric between your hands and pull with all your might. The material rips more easily than you thought, and you are left with a thin strip of soft, satin that you offer to Six.

Your eyes are slightly timid as you tenderly pick up his hand, mumbling, “It’s better than nothing?” Your voice turns upward at the end of your statement, cheeks beginning to burn at the thought process of your tired brain.

The bearded blonde just watches you curiously, but dips his chin in acceptance. Tactfully, you wrap the material around the busted knuckles of his right hand, doing your best not to tie the material too tightly. He winces slightly under your work, making you freeze as your eyes flash up to gauge his reaction.

He blinks at you once, shaking his head, “I’m good.” You watch him silently for another second before returning to his hand, your fingers shakily tying off the material. Once the emerald-shaded satin is secured around his knuckles, you gently let go of his hand.

The bearded blonde retracts his limb, a quiet, “Thank you,” rolling off his lips as he gazes out over the open ocean. Your vision starts to go blurry as exhaustion crawls up on you, and without thinking, you let your head slump against his right shoulder.

Six doesn’t move at the contact - it’s like he’s a statue. You can tell he’s just as drained as you are. The success of the mission. The fear of almost being trafficked. The fear of Six being injured by The Lion. The fear that only one of you was going to make it out of the mission in one piece.

The thoughts make your mind swirl despite it being sluggish. The panicked thoughts make your heart thud faster in your chest than you would have liked, your body going rigid as it fights to accept the reality. You are both okay.

Then, you feel Six shift next to you, and before you know it, his right arm wraps around your back, gently curling around your waist tentatively. His grip is loose, like he’s unsure if you are comfortable with the contact.

You pick your head up to look at him, (colored) eyes wide with question evident on your features. The bearded blonde stills at your movement, his body running rigid as you meet his stormy gaze.

You don’t have to say anything before Six’s voice rumbles out from deep in his chest, “I… thought you needed it. I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with it since the mission is over, though.”

His voice is quiet, his words deliberate despite being slightly slurred together. Butterflies bloom in your stomach as your heart lurches at the sentiment of his action. Ever the gentleman, even though he’s obviously tired and is probably thinking about a million other things.

You blink up at him once, then twice, and then you leave your eyes shut as you sleepily mumble, “Don’t mind it, actually. Could almost get used to it.” The words are more nonchalant than you thought they were going to be, the familiar sound of blood beginning to roar in your ears in nervousness.

In a bold move, you let your eyes flicker open to take in Six’s reaction, but to no surprise, a calm yet stoic look graces his angled features. Then, you move. Six is silent as you shuffle from sitting next to him to crawling up into his lap. 

Just like the morning in the lounge room, you settle yourself bridal style into his lap, the skirt of your emerald dress bunching up around your thighs. You’re careful to not let the slit reveal too much, but Six is ready for that.

His bandaged right hand shifts from being wrapped around your waist to cupping your hip as you situate yourself, the touch gentle but firm. From your movements, an unruly piece of once-curled hair falls into your face, and as you go to brush it out of your eyes, Six’s left hand beats you to it.

The digits are rough, but warm. His touch is gentle, as it always is, but moves slowly to tuck the strand behind your ear. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze - heat swarms your cheekbones and the exposed skin on your chest faster than you can comprehend.

A lump is forming in the back of your throat as your brain works overtime - the fatigue overruling the logic you normally operate on. You know it wasn’t the smartest move to plop yourself onto his lap, but your heart was telling you it was the right move to make.

So you were listening.

You swallow thickly as you part your mouth, the words shaky as you whisper, “Wanna know something?” Six just lets his blue gaze flit over you for a moment, noting the mascara transferring to your skin, the smudged edges of your lipstick, and the wind knots curling in your hair.

Eventually, he meets your gaze and hums in acknowledgement, seemingly happy to take his time in answering you. Like there is no one else in the world but you two.

Your hands nervously flatten on his chest, a feeling you still weren’t completely used to, your fingers drifting over the black material to play with the open buttons. You take a deep breath to steel yourself, and then you mumble, “I only took the mission because I knew I would be with you.”

Your gaze is locked onto your hands, avoiding looking up to see his face. Your fingers toy with the buttons before freezing when Six shifts underneath you. You feel a huff leave his chest, and you shyly glance up to meet his blue gaze.

There, a true, genuine smile rests on his lips, and suddenly your worry seems to melt away. It’s not a view you get to see often. His smile seems to draw the sunlight right toward it - the golden beams catching his pearly whites and making them glint.

There’s a shine in his eyes, the blueness of them enhanced by the light twinkling in them. It takes your breath away, the beauty of the man before you. Yes, his hair is a tangled mess of dirty blonde atop his head. Yes, his cheek is cut up and is swelling with purple bruises.

But there is no denying it. 

Sierra Six is beautiful. He’s beautiful on the outside, yes. But his beauty shines in the way he’s treated you with the utmost respect and kindness. His actions are pure and noble, with nothing but honor on his sleeve. 

This man’s heart shines brighter than any ray from the sun - and you can feel it.

His smile makes your heart skip a beat, and his grip on your hip tightens ever so slightly as he murmurs quietly, “You were the only reason I took the mission, too.” The bearded blonde’s response makes a smile of your own draw on your lips, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment.

Then, you both break into a light chuckle, your grip on each other tightening ever so slightly as the early morning breeze picks up again. Your hair is tossed around in the wind, but eventually falls back into place as you wipe tiredly at your eyes.

When your (colored) gaze flits back up to look at Six, he’s already looking at you. But this time? It’s different. It’s intense in a way you haven’t quite experienced. There’s still a smile to his eyes, a kindness to his bearded face, but a feeling that you aren’t sure you want to name. You can’t.

The sheer intensity of his gaze makes you want to run and hide, but you know there’s no reason to. It’s Six. You watch his blue eyes dance over your face again, similar to how he did moments ago, and your sluggish mind starts to race with the panic of overthinking.

“Is- is there something on my face?” you stutter out, pulling one hand away from his chest to come up to your face, covering one cheek in anxiousness. His head dips to the side a single millimeter, his eyes focused on yours as his left hand comes back up to your face.

He cups your cheek delicately, just as he did to not ruin your makeup for the mission, but there’s no desperation in this hold. It’s gentle because he can be. This only makes more butterflies swarm your stomach, and you can feel your heart rate picking up at his silence and his actions.

You are used to him being silent. That’s his nature - silent, stoic, and blunt when needed. But this mission flipped your whole perception of your partner upside down in a way you never expected. In a way you aren’t sure your heart can handle.

Yes - Six has shown affection this week, but it was all an act. He’s excellent at his job, there’s no doubt about it. Now, with his hand holding your cheek in a way you’ve never experienced, you know in your heart this is different.

Gently, Six swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. There’s smudged lipstick that transfers to his digit, but a small fleck of dried blood comes with it from where Whitney’s husband slapped your lip open. 

You don’t even realize the distance between the two of you is closing until your forehead knocks into his tenderly. His hand has guided you to close to him, your free hand settling back on his chest before slowly sliding up to the back of his neck.

With as much courage as you can muster, you thread your fingers through the dirty, tangled blonde locks. Just as he holds you close to him, you hold Six close to you. He stares deeply into your eyes, his brows knitting as a look of almost pain washes over his face.

He brushes his thumb over your cheekbones while his hand on your hip flinches. He swallows thickly, and then starts, “You,” he takes a breath, then continues, “You are so beautiful.” Your grip tightens on his hair as your gaze softens, the want to bury your face in his neck growing stronger with every passing second.

At your fingers tightening on him, Six’s eyes flutter closed as he soaks in your touch. Never, had you seen the assassin so open. So vulnerable. It makes thick emotion well up in your throat at the pure and real honesty in his voice. Then, words fall from his lips that you have to replay in your mind to make sure you heard him correctly.

“I, I don’t want this to end,” he mutters indistinctly, holding onto you like you are the only reason he’s still here. The only reason he works. His only source of oxygen. His reason to live.

Your grip loosens at his confession, and you stop breathing, air catching in your throat. Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to process his words. He seems to realize his mistake at your response, his eyes scrunching further shut with annoyance at himself.

“What do you mean, Six?” you ask him gently, not trying to chastise him or belittle him for the choice of words. Your (colored) gaze flits over his face as you nervously await a response. It takes him a second, and he shuffles awkwardly underneath you as he tries to come up with the right thing to say.

He takes a deep breath and then lets his eyes flutter open. He wets his lips with his tongue before he replies slowly, “None of it was fake for me. Every touch, every kiss, everything was real.” The air seems to freeze between the two of you as he holds his breath, waiting.

Your lungs start to burn when you realize you haven’t taken a breath. It catches in your throat as his words spin around your mind. Everything was real. It almost brings tears to your eyes, but you blink past your blurring vision, retightening your grip on his blonde locks.

The hand on his chest slides up to delicately cup his uninjured cheek, similar to his grip on your own, and you sniffle before whispering back, “None of it was fake for me either. None of it.”

Silence floods the air between the two of you as you both take deep breaths - heavy tension dancing in the space between your chests.  Neither of you knows what to do or say to your response. Neither of you had expected this.

But you, with your overactive yet sluggish brain, mumble, “I don’t think we can return to work as normal colleagues after this mission.” You see the look on Six’s face go from one of almost-hope to one of crushed disappointment. A deep sigh falls from his lips as he dejectedly starts to pull away from you.

Then, you are tightening your grip on his blonde locks and using your palm cupping his cheek to tilt his head up. Your nose bumps against his as your lips crash against his mouth. A groan of surprise, appreciation, and mild pain curls up the back of Six’s throat as he eagerly returns your kiss.

His hand slides from your cheek into the makeshift ponytail your hair has been tied up in. His fingers tangle in the (colored) locks as his lips chase after yours, a hunger to his movements. 

Six has kissed you before - but never like this. You can feel every ounce of emotion he is feeling as he kisses you. His mouth slots over yours repeatedly as he pours his heart out for you, slow with the need to show you how much he cares.

Your busted lip burns with the sting of Six’s mouth smoothing over your own, but you don’t seem to mind. Not when he’s taking control of the kiss, deepening it by tilting your head and pulling you flush against his chest. 

A gasp falls from your lips at the pure devotion he has - he’s giving you his complete, 100% undivided attention, and it makes your knees weak. Your hands don’t know where to grab, sliding through his locks, grasping at his face, hanging onto his neck and chest.

Your senses are completely drowned by him. Your nose bumps against his bruised one, the tickle of his goatee on your chin a welcome comfort. Your eyes are shut, but it's suddenly like you're seeing an entire future you didn’t know could have existed.

The taste of his mouth is becoming your favorite - one you don’t know you can go another day without. It’s very faintly got the taste of watermelon, but there’s a slight tang of copper that you know is from spitting out blood. 

You can barely make out the smell of the salty ocean air as your hearing drowns out the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Your hands end up finding purchase on his shoulders as he kisses you tenderly, his brows furrowing as he pours every feeling he can muster into the kiss.

Yes - Six has kissed you on this mission. But nothing in those kisses can compare to the pure, unadulterated desperation and love that you feel radiating from the man underneath you. It makes your heart sing, and the butterflies in your stomach dissolve into bliss as you attempt to match his intensity.

All you know is that you hadn’t been too sure about the mission when you accepted it. But now? You wouldn’t have changed the outcome for the world.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Fitzroy’s voice breaks through the quiet thrum of the ceiling fan. He sits at the head of the dark steel desk, papers carefully stacked in a manila envelope. The meeting room is basically empty, save for you and Six.

The two of you had successfully made it home about a week ago, with you forcing Six to get medical treatment for his injuries. He was reluctant, but eventually gave in when you started to give him the cold shoulder.

But now, Fitzroy wanted a debriefing with just the two of you. He said he “wanted to catch up,” whatever that meant coming from the older gentleman. So, you find yourself sitting next to Six, whose left hand rests on your knee, covered by the angle of the table.

Fitzroy glances between the two of you, a chipper look on his face as he shrugs and asks nonchalantly, “How was the trip? You both came back in one piece.” You scoff playfully, a twinkle in your eye as you wipe delicately at your nose.

Six is cool as ever next to you, his stoic facade only offering the older gentleman a small smile before humming, “Everything went according to plan, for the most part.” You glance at the bearded blonde next to you and give him a small smile. It’s a little softer than you realize, and Fitzroy is no fool.

The older gentleman clears his throat and then inquires, “What about you, Y/n? You weren’t too sure about the mission, but you seem to be in pretty good spirits.” You focus your (colored) gaze on Fitzroy and then shrug lightly, “I’m good. Petalas was nice and all, but I’m glad to be home.”

A coy smile curls on your lips, and Six’s fingers squeeze gently at your knee, distracting you ever so slightly. Six rolls his shoulders and then mumbles before yawning, “Yeah, me too. Glad I can wear comfortable clothes again.”

You snicker at him, the bearded blonde shooting you a playful glare that Fitzroy isn’t blind to. The older gentleman raises an eyebrow with interest and hints, “Seems like you two managed to get along pretty well? Better than pretty well, aye?”

You and Six both train your gazes on Fitzroy before glancing nervously at each other, a slight tension hanging in the air. You part your mouth to respond, eyes flitting back to the older gentleman before he sighs and rubs at his face, disappointed.

You instantly frown at the dejected look on the older gentleman’s face, and a confused wave of guilt washes over you. Fitzroy sets his hands flat on the table and pointedly glances between the two of you. 

Six swallows thickly and opens his mouth to respond, but Fitzroy cuts him off. “You’re telling me I basically sent the two of you on a week-long all-inclusive vacation so you could finally confess your feelings, and you didn’t get laid?”

The crudeness of Fitzroy’s words makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you look at your lap, awkwardly ashamed. Damn him and his observation skills. Of course he knows I like Six. He’s Fitz.

The man sitting next to you raises his free arm to scratch at the back of his neck before conceding, “In all fairness, Fitz, she did tell me, ‘no falling in love with me, or anything.’ Those were your words, right, sugar plum?”

Your mouth falls open in mock anger as you turn to face the bearded blonde, and you raise your hand to swat at his shoulder playfully. You manage to gasp out, “Six, you little-” “Not in front of Fitz, pookie,” the bearded blonde taunts, a knowing smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth as Fitzroy watches the two of you amusedly.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Fitzroy gently chides, “I think I’ve seen enough. I just wanted to make sure you two kids had gotten your heads out of your asses.” You shoot Six a final glare, heat flooding over your cheeks and swirling down your neck before you look back at Fitzroy.

The older gentleman has a smile on his face - one that you would compare to a proud father. He takes a deep breath and then sighs, “I’m happy for you, kid. I know I can’t promise you a happy ending. But maybe she can.” Fitzroy looks from Six to you, his words soft and full of what you can place as love.

It makes your heart flutter in your chest, and you reach down your thigh to grab Six’s hand, threading your fingers through his. Six holds Fitzroy’s gaze and then offers him his right hand, whispering, “Thanks, Fitz. She’s more than I ever could have dreamed of.”

Fitzroy clasps Six’s hand in his own, giving the bearded blonde a firm handshake. Six then turns to you, a genuine smile on his lips as he takes in the shy look on your face. You offer him your own smile, and the two of you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, lost in your own world.

“Okay, lovebirds. Time to focus,” Fitzroy’s gruff voice cuts in. The two of you tear your gazes away from each other at being caught blatantly by the older gentleman, turning to give him your full attention.

There’s a cheeky grin on Fitzroy’s face as he asks, “So how do the two of you feel about pretending to be married?”

[kaizsche]

THE GRAY MAN dir. Anthony Russo, Joe Russo

[zsuo]

i dont think ppl talk about these scenes enough

[the-marshals-wife]

Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: It's official: I'm obsessed with The Gray Man. I've watched it 3 times so far in under 2 months, and I really wanted to write something sweet for my current favorite Goose character.

Description: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader, established (secret) relationship; flirty, steamy fluff + angst if you squint | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol | Setting: post-movie | Word count: 1,746

Gif credit: user magnusedom

Imagine Six returning to you, his best kept secret, and asking you to come away with him

There was only one thing in the world that could make you open the front door of your apartment after midnight. The instant you recognize the familiar, distinct sequence of knocking, you shoot upright from your slumber and scramble off of the sofa, the book on your chest flying across the floor from where you had dozed off. Having almost tripped on the rug, you release the dead bolt and frantically fumble with the chain lock. Heart pounding, you slide it loose and jerk open the door.

Waiting on the other side like an apparition was a smiling face you weren't sure you'd ever lay eyes on again.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cup of sugar?"

"Court!"

You couldn't help it. His name, the name only you could use, escapes your lips like a cry.

"May I come in?" he gestures.

You grab his arm and usher him inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked in a hushed voice, looking over him.

"Here, there, everywhere," he answers, leaning back against the closed door. "Spent a little time in nowhere too."

"I've been so worried about you! I haven't heard from you in months. I know that's the job, but it's been so long without a sign or anything. I was afraid something happened to you. I didn't know what to think," you say all at once.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just, let me look at you first," he says, gazing on you softly, "Wow. How is that possible?"

"What?"

"How are you more beautiful than the last time I saw you?"

You feel your cheeks turn red, but it doesn't keep you from pointing a finger to his chest.

"If you think being a smoothie is going to get you out an explanation, think again, buster."

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Fair enough," he nods, "It's still true though. You're even prettier when you're angry."

"I must be stunning then," you smirk.

He brings his hand up to lift your chin, leaning in close, "Incredibly."

The waning space between you vanishes as he captures your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring every sensation you'd missed so much. From the warm, smokiness of his scent to the gentle scratch of his beard on your skin. When he finally pulls away, you're nearly breathless.

"Why don't you make yourself at home, stranger?" you propose, composing yourself, "You want a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," he replies.

"Coming right up," you say, turning towards the kitchen, "They feed you in 'nowhere'? I got half of a leftover sub here, and some really leftover pizza I can nuke in the microwave."

"Tempting, but I'm good for now, thanks. Just the beer," you hear him say as you grab two bottles from the fridge.

"Good call, honestly. We can just order take out or something."

He doesn't respond, and it immediately catches your attention. You grab the bottle opener from the drawer and make quick work of the caps. With a faraway look in his eye, he stands on the other side of the modest island that separates the kitchen area from the living area. You extend the bottle towards him, and even when he takes it from your grasp, he's barely shaken from his silent reverie.

Too worried to imbibe, you set your own drink down on the counter. "Court, what's wrong? I can tell something is bothering you."

He takes a drink, which is followed by a long pause.

"Do you remember Fitzroy's niece, Claire?"

You nod. "Of course. Is she alright?"

"She is now," he sighs, setting his jaw, "Fitzroy is gone."

"What?" you say, rounding the island to be at his side.

"It's a long story, but some bad people got ahold of Claire to get to him, because of something that I did. We took care of it in the end, but...he didn't make it."

He takes another hefty drink and puts down the bottle.

"Court, I'm so sorry," you say, touching his arm, "I know how much he meant to you."

He turns to face you. "He did. Now Claire has no one, except me. And that's what I came here to talk to you about."

Your pulse quickens at the seriousness in his voice.

"Her and I have been on the run the past couple weeks. Staying ahead of Carmichael and his goon squad."

"Wait, you escaped the agency?" you ask, shocked.

"Didn't have a choice after they tried to use her as leverage to get me to keep doing their dirty work. I got her out, which means I'm out too, for good," he confirms solemnly, "I've found a place for us where we might actually have a shot at a normal-ish life."

You stare at him wide-eyed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'm all she has left. She needs me. And I need you," he says, gently rubbing your upper arms, "Before, I couldn't give you the life you deserved. But this could be my second chance. I think I might have finally gotten to the top of the hill, and I want you there with me."

"Oh Court, I don't know..." you hesitate, mind reeling, "I don't know anything about raising a kid."

He grins. "Neither do I. We can figure it out together. I mean there's gotta be a manual or something, right?"

You can't help but snort at the idea. Just as more protests are forming on your tongue, he gives you a look so disarming that you forget the words entirely.

"Come away with me, Y/N."

He takes your hand in his.

"It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be perfect. I know I've got no right to ask you to leave everything behind. But I've loved you from the very beginning, and I will protect you with everything I have."

His vow brings tears to your eyes. He laid his heart bare, and in doing so, he'd banished the last of your meager doubts.

"Well, when you put it that way," you say.

You grab the collar of his jacket in your fists and pull him into a kiss. He hums in pleasant surprise and laces his fingers through your hair. After another heated moment of rediscovery, you at last loosen your grip and surface from the embrace.

"Is that a yes?" he chuckles.

"It is," you answer, your smile becoming nervous as your thoughts turn to the future, "Do you think Claire will like me?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's going to love you," he smirks, letting you go and walking over to the window. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive you two. This was probably a bad idea."

"Now I really I can't wait to meet her," you tease.

Your amusement fades, however, as you watch him part the curtain and cautiously peer up at the surrounding rooftops.

Dread stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

"We should probably get you packed up," he says over his shoulder.

"Really? I thought we'd at least have tonight. Are you being followed right now?"

"Not yet. No one knows about this place. But the longer I'm here, the greater the possibility that changes," he frowns, "I need to get back to Claire. I took a risk coming here. She can't be alone for long."

You mind begins to race as your gaze darts around your apartment and belongings. The framed pictures scattered across the walls of old friends and family you hardly see suddenly meant more than anything tucked away in the safe beneath your bed. But could you even take them? Would having any ties to your old life be too dangerous?

Old life. The thought makes your head spin.

"This is happening so fast," you say as you rub your temples, "I never thought I'd just leave everything. I don't even know what to take with me."

"Hey," he says, stepping back over to you, "It's alright. Listen, I know I got caught up in pouring out my dumb old heart a minute ago, but you don't have to do this, Y/N. If you want to stay, I understand."

"No, I'm coming with you," you deny, "I want to be with you, no matter where we have to go. I've never wanted anything more. You have made it to the top, Court, and I wouldn't miss the view for anything."

All this time, you had been the only refuge in the world for "Sierra Six". Now, more than ever, he was becoming yours.

He kisses your forehead softly and smiles down on you.

"How about we just start small, and go from there. Baby steps. Like, maybe a suitcase?" he suggests.

"Sounds good," you agree, "Guess I don't need to pack the kitchen sink for wherever we're going?"

He snickers, "No, we have one of those. Got one in the bathroom too. We even have a toilet."

"I wasn't expecting such luxury," you smirk.

"I mean you have to hold the handle down a little to get it to flush, but other than that," he quips.

"Well, I suppose I'll survive," you say in mock exasperation.

"We do have a TV, so that kinda makes up for it. Plus, I got queen bed all to myself. I might could be persuaded into sharing, though."

You cross your arms, eyeing his suggestive look.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to sleep on top of the covers. I don't wanna get your girl germs on my sheets."

"Courtland Gentry," you grunt, smacking his arm.

You take off down the hall to your room, and he follows after you laughing.

"What? What'd I say?" he asks, knowing full well.

"Why don't I just sleep on the floor?" you pose.

You bolt over to your dresser and start rummaging through your clothes, keeping your back to him.

"Okay, you're right. That was unfair of me," he concedes.

Biting your lip, you spin around with your eyebrows raised.

He stands in the doorway, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapping it, "You can get under the comforter."

You throw a shirt at him, shaking your head.

"Shut up and help me pack."

He pops the gum in his mouth and smiles.

"Yes ma'am."

[drivinmeinsane]

Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows. 

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed." 

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look. 

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area. 

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown. 

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight." 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway. 

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands. 

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves. 

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is. 

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt. 

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged. 

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.  

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister…  and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion. 

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got." 

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family." 

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning. 

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.” 

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six. 

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers. 

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s. 

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted. 

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare. 

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well. 

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate. 

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids. 

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning  against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets  seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you. 

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again. 

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you. 

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family. 

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up 

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved. 

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil. 

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six. 

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart. 

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so. 

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.” 

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers. 

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.  You don't want to push the issue. 

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now?  Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat. 

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it. 

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch. 

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand. 

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door. 

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house? 

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up. 

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?”  He must mean Six. 

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men. 

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking. 

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head. 

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage. 

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration. 

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.” 

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire. 

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh. 

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response. 

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment 

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.  

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together. 

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either. 

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.” 

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well. 

“I’m out.” He says, resigned. 

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist. 

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you. 

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.” 

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go. 

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up. 

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone.  He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg. 

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room. 

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong. 

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm. 

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep. 

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face. 

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself. 

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you. 

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I  overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving. 

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing. 

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…” 

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

 You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example." 

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous. 

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you. 

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later. 

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends. 

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[hederasgarden]

can i request a soulmate au with six? specifically the soulmate aus where whatever you write or doodle on your skin appears on the other person’s?

i think it would be a neat way for him and soulmate to communicate when he’s away

Pairing: Sierra Six x F!Reader  Word Count: 507 Warning: Soulmate AU with some angst.  A/N: This is my first time writing a soulmate AU so please be gentle. Thanks to Mushu for reading this over. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡Ryan Gosling Character Masterlist

On the morning of your birthday, you take a pen and write your name and address on your forearm. Then you wait, staring hopefully at the blank skin beneath the ink. Your soulmate, whoever they are, never writes back and each year you find yourself a little less optimistic about getting a response.

Perhaps he’s already happily in love with someone else. Maybe he simply doesn’t want you. You push away the more persistent thought that occasionally surfaces—maybe he’s dead. You don’t think that’s actually true, you’d feel it if he were.

Your family and friends do their best to make your day special, but your thoughts keep drifting back to your unanswered message. Everyone else you know has found their soulmate and it hurts to see them all so happy. Today, you wear long sleeves and try to push aside thoughts of what’s hidden beneath. You eat at your favorite restaurant and fill your day with activities. You've almost forgotten about the message until you get home and change for bed. 

Beneath your message is another. The ink is red and the letters are messy and jumbled. Your heart catches in your throat. 

I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?

You scramble for your desk, grabbing for the first pen you see and writing back quickly. Your hands shake so bad it's a miracle your words are legible.

Of course. Please. I want to meet you.

A minute later you get your answer. It's a simple message, but it confuses you.

Door.

Then you hear it—a soft but firm knock on your front door. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you hurry to the entrance. It doesn’t matter that you’re in ratty old pajamas or that your face is bare, stripped of the makeup you wear as a shield against the world. Your soulmate is here.

You fling the door open and gaze up at the man you find there. He’s holding a bouquet of half wilted flowers, standing perfectly still. His eyes are the bluest you’ve ever seen, and a full, pouty bottom lip is barely concealed by a neatly trimmed dark goatee. 

"Hey," you breathe, overwhelmed when he offers you a sweet but hesitant smile. “You’re here. Come in, come in,” you urge stepping back to give him space to pass you. 

"I'm sorry.” He stares at you, his eyes roving over your face. “I've....” he trails off, looking away. “There's a lot you don't know." 

"It doesn't matter," you tell him honestly.

He raises his hand as if he means to touch you only to draw away. He steps back but before he can get far you launch yourself at him, knocking into him. He stumbles but manages to catch you, and you bury your cheek against his chest, your joy at having him here eclipsing any shame or embarrassment. 

After a moment of hesitation, you feel his arms surround you and he rests his cheek against the top of your head. He sighs, and you hold him tighter. Whatever story he has to tell doesn’t matter right now; he’s real, alive, and here with you. That's all that matters.

[sixyphus]

[anitalenia]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓷 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦'𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 . . . 𝙥𝙡𝙨 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 ₊˚⊹♡

— 𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙ 𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒚𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔, always feeling the need to show off and showcase his winnings and scores. He was egotistic and sadistic, finding pleasure in the gory details and intricate, bloody intertwining of a persons biological makeup. He was such the opposite of six in every way possible.

Loud, dramatic, unreasonable.

He didn’t care about anything… He didn’t care about anything except you, you and him and the twisted lovesick bubble you were entrapped in together. He was selfish and cruel, mean and downright psychopathic yet with you he was… mush. Just a lovey-dovey pile of hearts pooled around your feet that worshipped your every, perfect step.

You saw his more sweet, romantic side reserved quite literally just for you and it truly made you feel special. You knew he wasn't a good man yet he was the best man for you, and that's all that mattered. He was sweet to you, cherished you, protected you, worshipped you, doted on you and hung off every sweet wish that escaped your glossy lips.

This was a fact known amongst anyone who spoke his name, that yours was just a faint whisper behind it. You were his other half, the Queen of his hellish kingdom, the better part of him symbolized in the uncharacteristic love he had for you. You were off limits, untouchable, his and only his and... you loved it that way.

Lloyd, as so in touch with his bold personality, loved to shower you in rather extravagant bouquets and gifts more lavish than necessary. He was dramatic and exemplary in his own right yet there was one simplistic tradition he couldn’t stray from… roses.

Lloyd loved roses; pink roses, white roses, blue roses. But he especially loved the deep red ones, the rich color and smell of the most perfect flower that personified love and loyalty like no other and you deserved no less. Roses were classy, beautiful, timeless such as you.

He would buy you those teddy bear shaped roses wrapped in delicate red bows, the overly large bouquets wrapped in delicate pink paper and ribbon you needed two hands to carry. He would even leave that morning with a sweet kiss on your lips and an impish smile under his mustache, knowing he had left you 100 bouquets to wake up to just downstairs, each with a note saying one reason why he loved you.

There was absolutely nothing simple about this man. Spoiling you was a love language of his, a way he portrayed his undying love for you in the expensive roses and exotic flowers he gifted you with. He was extravagant and ensured his devotion to you was just as such to anybody who dare pry.

He wanted you to have the best of the best, spoiled you with the grandness of things in every aspect of your life so why should flowers and bouquets be any different? You only got the prettiest of flowers, the finest of tissue paper and ribbon, from the best flower shop he imported them from.

Really, you knew his showboating was just a sly scheme of his to show his goons that you belonged to him and that he was yours. You didn’t mind his possessiveness though, your shared mansion littered with the finest of glass and marble vases to hold all the roses he’d give you. Anyone could walk in and see that you were well taken care of.

Every room in every hall carried a pot of flowers, the prettiest of flowers, the prettiest of roses, and yet to him you were always the most beautiful thing amongst them all. You were delicate and gossamery, so fine and enchanting just like the roses he’d give you. And, just as with every rose comes its thorns, or in other words, Lloyd Hansen will always be right behind you in case anyone dare try and pluck your pretty petals.

He’d always be there to save you, protect you, keep you and your beauty safe from anything that try and take you from him. He gifted you with all the prettiest of roses but for him you were his rose, his pretty flower, his pretty girl.

Now, Lloyd Hansen wouldn’t be Lloyd Hansen if he didn’t gift you with a backyard full of your very own rose bushes now would he? So, that’s exactly what he did. A whole garden dedicated to you, pristine and pampered with the best gardeners so he could give you roses anytime he wanted. Not a moment went by when you weren’t being smothered with red red roses in the safety of his castle; the belle to his beast in all the best ways.

Yes, Lloyd Hansen was evil incarnate, ripping at the seams a hellish, bloodthirsty beast stuck in human flesh but with you… not with you. You were his humanity, his princess in the twisted fairy tale he orchestrated for you. You loved him and all his murderous tendencies, and he was completely, irrevocably, irreversibly in love with you.

As every hundredth rose could tell anyone who dare ask.

— 𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐗 / 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅, never one to spare a smile unless it was sarcastic and mean. But with you, his stony face and rigid exterior could never deter you. You had been with him for far too long now, too adept in his several complex mannerisms to be able to differentiate the good ones from the bad ones. You took him as he was, as he is, his blank faces and longly trauma and everything he came with.

Yes, he was usually so withdrawn and cold to anybody else, quick to leave and utter an irritated grievance but never with you. With you, he was warm and bright, soft smiles and loving eyes. With you, he was right where he was meant to be, by your side and protected by the impenetrable confines of your endless adoration.

Six gets you flowers randomly and sporadically, and it was such a sweet surprise to you each and every time he did. He rarely ever got you a bouquet unless it was something you explicitly wanted, something he’d really only purposely get on days that were really special — holidays or anniversaries.

He doesn’t do roses and old fashioned bouquets he felt every guy did for their lady, he figured you deserved more than tradition, something better. So, he likes to be unique and tries to make an effort in getting flowers specifically tailored to your tastes.

He was a gentleman even if he didn’t believe so, always overcompensating for something you weren’t sure what; maybe because he believed himself to be a difficult man to love, a difficult man to be with, something lesser than you so he’d try and make up for it.

He’s the type of man to bring you a flower he had seen one afternoon that he thought you might like, always taking note of the favorable flowers you’d mention days before and the excitement in your eyes as you talked about them. He remembered little things like that, things that you didn’t think he’d pay attention to.

He was a man to notice the small things as he’d walk into a front lawn or small garden, pluck the prettiest flower he could find and then tenderly place it in his pocket until he found his way back to you.

Most times it was just a simple daisy, a simple petunia, a simple stem, a simple little flower he had thought you would like. But for you it wasn’t about the lavish bouquets and dramatic proclamations of love anyway, it never was. Each simple flower was anything but simple to you, each one’s significance went beyond its pretty appearance and found in the gesture of what that flower represented.

Six’s love was subtle but fierce, strong and all encompassing. With each flower he gifted you it was just another sweet, meaningful anecdote in your budding love story. He’d leave it on the countertop before a mission, your bedside table, his pillow on the days he’d have to disappear for weeks on end. You were thankful for them, his subtle strokes of devotion bundled into a simple, little flower that meant the world to you. It was never about the money to you, and it was only ever the thought that mattered with Six.

You always loved his flowers, the small ones and the simple ones and the pretty ones. Whenever he would leave you on those stupid missions of his, the only thing you’d be left with is his sweet smell imbedded into the sheets and the flowers tucked under your bed in that precious pink shoebox. They’d be the only things left to remember him by until he came back, and in certain ways a guarantee that he will be.

Six will be gone when he thinks of you, missing you desperately, wishing to be back with you again. But even in the midst of gunfire and smoke he’ll still find your pretty flower sticking out of the cracked, bloodstained concrete and delicately put it somewhere safe, somewhere it can wait until it finds its way to you. It was his own way of ensuring himself that he will find his way back to you, back into the warmth, back where he was meant to be.

Each flower was a token of his love to you, each stem a stronger bond, each petal an unspoken promise. Whenever he was gone too long and you were left alone and sulking you would open up that shoebox of withered and fresh flowers. Whenever Six was sitting on an alley wall tending to his own bloody wounds halfway across the country he’d take that flower out of his pocket and twirl it in between his dirty fingertips.

No matter how far apart you two were the flowers were always there, stagnant and reassuring, as you both would look at that flower and find comfort in the words it symbolized.

He will always come back to you.

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙TAGGING , @ghostslillady hope you enjoy bestie, it’s just a small thing 💕💕 & @little-miss-chaoss

[comabite]

Six

twitter: comasuart

[quack-quack-snacks]

Fly My Lady Away

My Navigation and Masterlist

My Gray Man/Courtland Gentry Masterlist

Pairing(s): Courtland Gentry x Fem!Claire's Nurse!Reader Summary: Two years after Six left you and Claire, you were still missing him. During unfortunate circumstances, you get to see him again. Warnings: Medical stuff, canonical violence, blood, fighting, death, etc. Word Count: 10,304 Extra Notes: Any L name you encounter in this is Lloyd Hansen, just so you know. I'm going on my hiatus again officially. BYE! Happy reading!

pt 1

Getting over the sudden shift from seeing Six every day to not seeing him at all was like losing a loved one all over again. Even if he wasn’t dead (you hoped, pleaded, prayed that he wasn’t dead), you still missed him like he was. Each and every day, you wrote a letter you knew you would never be able to send. Each one expressing your emotions and longing, and love for him that he would never find out about because you would never see him again. Instead, you kept the letter safely tucked away. No stamps and no address because where would you even send it to? The only thing written on the front was the only name you knew him by. 

Six.

Sometimes you dream about what his real name would be. Would it be a common name like Noah or Michael? Or would it be something classier and somewhat more unique, like Ian or Nathan? You would never know for sure. That, you were positive about, but dreaming about what could have been was the only thing that kept you from breaking down about his absence. 

You dreamt about what your life would’ve been like if you had both been born and raised differently. Perhaps you’d buy a cottage in the woods together. You’d both man the garden and cook dinner. Claire would come over on occasion, and you would always have chocolate ice cream at the ready for her. 

He’d put a pretty rock on your ring finger, not too big but big enough that you’d have a hard time looking away from it at some points. 

Maybe you’d have a little dog. A Golden Retriever or maybe a Bernese Mountain Dog. It would be the extra joy in your life, waking you up by pouncing on top of you in your bed and indicating it was hungry. 

And when you fell into your deep sleep, you sometimes would dream about something so unspoken and impossible to have that it made you wake up every time. 

Having children with him. 

He was a Sierra. There was no way he would ever be able to have kids, even if he did somehow escape from the CIA. He would constantly be on the run, and that was no life for a child.

Even so, you think you would risk it if it meant you would be able to be with him and live a hint of the life you’ve been dreaming about. 

Two years went by from the time Six left you. Claire got over his disappearance pretty quickly, thankfully. She sometimes brought it up and told you she missed him, but often times she wouldn’t say a thing about him. You, on the other hand, had much more longing in your heart. You always hid it the best you could so you wouldn’t bring down the spirits of Claire, though you knew she could see through you sometimes. Those were the times her voice was softer around you, and she was more huggy. It was nice, and you needed those hugs, but it also worsened the pain. 

Over time, the pain lessened, and you didn’t feel like your heart was breaking every day. Even so, you realized you might never find a love like that again. You already don’t go out very often, and nobody made you feel even a fraction of the way you felt for Six. He had ruined you for anyone else just by being a kind soul to you in those two months you spent with him.  

He had ruined you, and he had barely touched you. 

It wasn’t until Claire said something that you noticed how dull your life had seemed to become. How dull you had become. 

“Okay, something needs to change.”

You looked over at her from where you were stirring brownie mix with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean that you have been staying inside for months. You hardly go outside to walk around anymore, and the only reason you leave is if you’re coming with me as a supervisor. You only make the food that I like anymore, even if it’s stuff you don’t like, and you’ve stopped replying to all your friends asking you to go out with them. It’s like when Six left all over again. So either you tell me what’s wrong and then you go out with your friends, or you don’t tell me what’s wrong and you still go out with your friends. Your choice.”

You glared at her, noticing the mischief in her eyes as she returned your gaze with an all too innocent look of her own. “What have you done, Claire?”

She winced a bit at the accusation in your tone but smiled guiltily at you nonetheless. “I may or may not have called Nancy to take over for you this weekend and set up a girls' day for you with your friends… maybe.”

Her smile made your heart melt despite how you wanted to be mad at her for going behind your back and doing this. You couldn’t be mad at her when she was just trying to help, so instead you just sighed in exasperation and started pouring the brownie mix into the pan. “I’ll forgive you this one time, but next time you shouldn’t do that without talking to me first. Going out with friends may be something that I need to do more often, but you are still my number 1 priority, and I want to be prepared if I ever leave you with someone else, even if that someone is Nancy,” you told her with a pointed look in your eye. 

Nancy was your babysitter growing up, as well as Claire’s caretaker before you took over. You trusted her with your life, but more importantly, Claire’s life. Despite trusting her as you did, you wish you would have had more time to prepare. 

Noticing the guilty way Claire looked down and played with the hem of her shirt, you sighed again with a smile and got her attention. “You wanna lick the spoon?” You asked her playfully, to which she immediately perked up and walked over to grab the spatula you had used to mix the batter. 

Saturday finally came around, and you were genuinely excited to get ready and go out with your friends. It was something you hadn’t done in a long time, and you knew it was exactly what you needed to get yourself out of this depressive episode you were in. 

When you had finally gotten yourself ready to go and were just putting on your tennis shoes, because you didn’t want to go out dancing all night in 6-inch heels, Claire walked into the room with a happy look on her face at your dressed-up person. You stood up and did a twirl. “So? How do I look?”

“Wow! Who knew you were able to not look like a goblin for once in your life!” She joked, and you lightly shoved her shoulder as you walked out the door of your bedroom and toward the house’s living room. 

“Okay, so tell me what the rules are again for when Nancy gets here?” You asked Claire, setting up a plate of your homemade cheese pizza for her (since she doesn’t like pepperoni). 

“No going outside without telling her, no making a fuss about going to bed unless it’s before 11 o’clock,” you paused and looked at her. She rolled her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to pull one over on you. “Unless it’s before 10 o’clock,” you nodded in satisfaction while placing the pizza in the microwave and heating it for 30 seconds. “No skipping on eating my vegetables, even if it’s asparagus, even though they’re disgusting and taste gross, and no leaving any dirty dishes in the sink unless the dishwasher is running.”

You nodded and gave her a high five while placing the plate in front of her spot on the island. “That’s my girl.”

You sat down beside her and watched her eat and talk about how she just managed to beat her high score again. You pretended to be exasperated and annoyed when you heard that last part and delighted in the smile you managed to get from her. When she got down to the last 3 bites of her pizza, excluding the crust, you heard the doorbell ring. “That must be Nancy. I’ll go get it. Make sure to put the crust in the compost bin when you’re done!”

“I will!” She replied. 

You walked to the front door and opened it without a second thought. 

“Hey, Nanc- Who the fuck are you?” You cut yourself off when you saw a man you’d never seen before in front of you. He had an awful-looking mustache while wearing a white and blue-collared polo shirt along with black khakis. His hands were held behind his back and he had a serene yet cocky smile on his face. 

“Oh, me? My name is Lloyd. Lloyd Hansen,” he replied. 

“Why’d you introduce it like that? That was so weird. It’s not like you’re James Bond,” you sighed, looking around behind him and searching for Nancy, who should be pulling up any minute now. “Well, can I help you? I’m about to leave,” you purposely left out the fact that you were leaving your 13-year-old sister/patient in the house. 

“You actually can help me by coming with me.”

Your eyebrows raised, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, you saw two men step into your line of sight on either side of him and step toward you. When you took a step back, you heard Claire’s voice speak up behind you. “Is that her?” 

Just before she turned the corner, you yelled, “Claire, run!”

Asking no questions, she did as you told and started running toward the panic room in the house, meanwhile, you grabbed onto the two Sai weapons placed behind the decorative bookshelf next to the door in case of an emergency like this one. 

Wasting no time, the two men on the side of the mustached man in the middle started walking toward you, and wasting no time yourself, you started swinging. Your trident weapon was blunt, but still a heavy metal weapon that you used to slam against their ribs and head. You didn’t want to kill them, but you would be damned if they got past you and to the girl hiding away behind the bookshelf in your uncle’s room. 

Successfully, you were able to knock them out, so they were nothing more than heaps of breathing meat on the floor. It was only when you heard clapping that you looked up and noticed the mustached man looking at you in an amused and impressed manner. 

“What do you want, Larry?” You asked him.

He frowned at the mispronunciation of his name and crossed his arms. “You know, it hurts me when a pretty girl like you doesn’t know my name.”

“Then I guess you don’t get hurt often, considering it’s hard for me to believe you see any girls.”

“Ooh, burn,” he playfully clutched his heart like you’d just given him a heart attack. 

You lunged forward, swinging at him left and right. He dodged with a near-perfect accuracy that made you mad. That dance you had with each other went back and forth for a while. It was clear he wasn’t going to hurt you, but you weren’t above hurting him. 

Your focus was on him and only him until you heard the familiar, fearful shriek of the 13-year-old who was supposed to be safe and sound. You whipped your head around to find her, only for a needle to be pressed into your neck and a liquid injected into you. You gasped and yanked your neck away, turning around and swinging your weapon at him. It seemed, though, that the liquid made your movements delayed, and your hand was caught by his before he disarmed you and brought your knuckles up to his lips, where he mockingly placed a kiss. You clenched your fist and threw a punch at him, only for him to catch that too and then jam a taser into your side. Your body tensed up with the shock waves, and you gasped, falling to the floor. 

With bleary eyes and the wind knocked out of you, you looked around, trying to find where the gasping shriek had come from. When your eyes finally landed on her after sluggishly scanning your eyes around the room, you felt a mix of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, you saw she was unharmed and was more than happy about that, but on the other, she had been caught and was being dragged toward the front door where you were still lying in front of. 

You weren’t lying down for long, though, because the mustached man from before picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

You still tried your hardest to call out for Claire, though you could only manage a soft mumble or near incoherent words. It seemed to be enough for her to hear you, though, because she started calling out for you instead of cursing her handlers to let her go. 

Finding enough strength to look up right as you were walked out the door, you saw the terrified yet defiant look in your sister’s eyes and the bloody body of Nancy lying against the wall of your house. 

Just as your eyes started getting heavier, you mumbled out with all the bite you could manage, which, admittedly, wasn’t much, “Screw you, Leslie.”

Then everything went black. 

You woke up on a plane with your hands tied to the armrests of your seat and your feet bound to the floor. Claire sat in the seat right next to you with her arms and legs in the same position and her head resting on your shoulder while yours rested on top of hers. Her eyes were closed, and you immediately assumed she was asleep. 

When you lifted your head off of hers, you were immediately hit with a wave of nausea and dizziness. It was almost like you were having the worst hangover of your life. At first, you were confused as to why you were tied up and why you had a hangover-type headache. You didn’t have an explanation for the first part, but then you remembered you were going out with your friends the night before. 

It was only when you spotted the mustached man enter through the curtain of the aisle in front of you that you remembered you had never gone on that trip with your friends. You were too busy getting attacked and kidnapped to do that. 

“Ah, Sunshine! You’re awake,” The man said, grinning widely at you. His loud voice not only made your headache worse and your ears hurt, but it also made you fearful of Claire waking up. 

“Shut the fuck up, Lucy, I’m way too hungover for your voice right now.”

You saw a twitch in his eye at your continuous mispronunciation of his name as he sat down on the plane seat across from you. “Well, that’s too bad, Cupcake. I’m finding myself bored of being all by myself, and when there’s such a beautiful girl in my presence, why wouldn’t I take the opportunity to talk to her?”

“Because that girl has told you to shut up and get the fuck away from her?” You asked rhetorically. 

“Your words cut deep, Dollface. Can’t we just get along?”

“Considering you just kidnapped my sister and me for no reason, I think not,” you said with a roll of your eyes before you closed them and rested them against the headrest behind you. 

He sighed, but you could hear the amusement in it. With a snap of his fingers, you heard another pair of heavy footsteps approach you, and suddenly your head was being yanked back by your hair, and Claire was being rudely shaken awake. 

“You know,” Logan started, getting up from his seat and picking up a glass cup of a brown liquid, and taking a sip. “You should be nicer to your captors; the only way you’ll be making it out alive is through me. And I would be nicer to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I hurt your poor feelings?” You taunted, your voice strained from the awkward position your neck was pulled to. “Maybe if your ego wasn’t so big, I wouldn’t be so rude.”

He pointed at you and laughed. “You just don’t quit! God, you’re feisty. Makes me just want to cut open your head and see what’s going on in there,” he expressed disturbingly. 

You grimaced, and he gave you a smile before taking out his phone. It was only then that you noticed the gun aimed at Claire’s head and her terrified and petrified face. You started struggling against the grip, trying to get the gun away from her, even if it was moved onto you. “Get your filthy hands away from her!”

Ignoring your demand request, Mr. Mustache put the phone sideways and aimed it at the two of you. With a wide grin, he said, “Say cheese!”

The rest of the ride was pretty calm after that. They left you alone for the most part, except for one guard who was in the room with you at all times. It was only when you landed that you were rid of your binds and led into a beautiful historic building. It was so gorgeous, yet you were unable to appreciate its beauty because of your current predicament. You kept one hand around Claire’s arm throughout the entire walk, not allowing her to be separated from you, but also not allowing any of the guards to touch her. You could tell she was in a state of shock with the way she hadn’t spoken a word for the entire trip, even on the plane. You wished you could do something to ease her anxiety and allow her to feel less fear about the situation, but you couldn’t. The only way you would ease her fears would be if you were to take away those fears permanently by taking her out of the situation altogether. 

When you entered the room you were supposedly staying in for the time being, you pulled Claire in for a hug as soon as they closed the door behind you. That was when she started letting out gasps of sobs. You could tell she was trying to keep it together, but you didn’t want her to. That was your job. She was the kid, she didn’t need to suppress her emotions like that. 

“Let it all out, it’s okay. I’m here. You’ll be okay, I promise. Everything will be just fine.”

At your words, she started sobbing harder, clutching onto your shirt like it was a lifeline as she let out her fear and anxieties about everything that was happening. 

You stood like that for a long while until eventually the two of you moved over to the couch, where you continued to comfort her. After a while of silence, she spoke up. “Where did you even learn to fight like that?”

It took you a minute to understand what exactly she was asking, but once you did, you smiled lightly. “When we had that break-in when Six was around, the one you walked into with the guy on the floor, I realized just how vulnerable I was when I didn’t know how to fight on my own. I asked Uncle D. to set me up with some self-defense lessons, and we went from there. It appears that I am a natural at kicking peoples’ asses, especially with double handed weapons. Only reason I lost was because the motherfucker drugged me.”

“Stupid motherfucker,” Claire mumbled.

“Hey! Don’t use that word.”

“What?” She asked in surprise and exasperation. “You literally just used it, that’s so unfair!”

“Yeah, well, I’m the adult and I say you can’t use the word, so hah!” You stuck your tongue out to emphasize your ‘adultness’ and she laughed. You grinned at her until it died down into something more serious. “We’ll get out of here, okay? We’ll be fine.”

She nodded, believing you. You just wished you believed yourself. 

Later that day, after you realized you had arrived at nearly 2 in the morning, you were sitting in silence with Claire on the queen-sized bed you were provided with. Both of you had exhausted all conversation topics you could think of, and now you were stewing in your fear. You held it together for her, allowing her to rest her burdens as well as her head on your shoulders. It was hours later, and when the golden rimmed clock hanging above the room’s entrance displayed it was around 3 p.m., that the door opened. Neither of you looked over, guessing it would be another guard to provide you with a tasteless meal that you would taste test first to make sure it wasn’t poisoned before making sure Claire ate. Instead, the voice that followed the door opening and closing was one you longed to hear since you got into this mess. 

“Hello, my sweethearts.”

You both snapped your heads over to the voice, and Claire got up first to rush over to him and encase him in a hug. You let them have their moment together, not wanting to interrupt. 

“I’m so sorry,” Your uncle said sorrowfully. “I know, honey.”

With a look and a wave of his hand, he saw the way your nose crinkled at the burn from the tears you were holding back and the wetness building on your waterline, and he motioned for you to join the hug. 

You did so with a barely suppressed sob that rattled your chest, hugging them both and sandwiching Claire in between the two of you. 

He mumbled his apologies while holding both of you tightly, and you could only rest your head on top of Claire’s and sniffle. 

An hour passed of you all sitting together, Donald looking thoughtfully out the window like he was waiting for something, while you sat beside Claire and held onto her hands to keep them from shaking or from her anxiously picking at her cuticles. Everything was relatively silent until the doors opened and Lydia stormed in with two men armed to the teeth on both his sides. “Goldilocks!” He started, aiming his attention at you and Claire for the moment being. “Would you be a lamb and excuse us for a moment?” He asked, though his words were most definitely not a question. 

“Go to hell, Lindsey,” Claire said, taking a page from your book. You would have laughed if the circumstances were any different, but you only started yelling and jumping forward when the man grabbed onto the front of her shirt and yanked her up and off the couch, throwing her into the guards right behind him. 

“She has a pacemaker, jackass!” 

“What the hell! Let her go!” You screamed at the same time as your uncle, standing up and rushing toward her to help. The only thing that stopped you was the sudden and dizzying way he twirled you around and placed you in a headlock. That was when the tables turned and Claire started shouting your name in a panicked sort of anger. You pulled at his arm around your neck, not really choking you, but holding you in place, until he placed a gun against your temple. 

In a tone too quiet for Claire to hear from her spot, being dragged out of the room while kicking and screaming, he said, “You know, if the circumstances were different, I like I would have brought you into my bed already. You would have had a great time, that’s for sure. Girls that have a fire like you are hard to come by, but they’re exactly my type.”

“If circumstances were different, I still would have swung a Sai at you the second I saw you,” you spat out in response, really debating biting his arm, but honestly, he would probably like that. Or he would just shoot you, either or. 

He stuffed his face in your hair, and you nearly headbutted him in response. Instead, you merely grimaced in disgust. “In another life, I suppose. Take her boys.”

As soon as he gave the command, you were dragged along in the same direction as Claire. You didn’t need to be dragged, though, because as long as they were taking you to her, you would follow them willingly. As you walked away, though, you heard the man speak one last time. 

“If the lamb has a pacemaker, she definitely shouldn’t stick around for this next part.”

That didn’t bode well for your uncle. 

When they opened the door that you could hear banging on from the other side, you were shoved in and stumbled into Claire. You immediately grabbed her shoulders and started looking her over. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they? God, I will kill them if they hurt you.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, they didn’t hurt me. What about you? Did Lasagna hurt you?”

You let a small smile climb onto your face at her words and shook your head. “God, you’re so funny. No, he didn’t hurt me. I’m okay, same as you.”

She nodded, and that was that until you heard screams coming from the direction you just came from. They were faint, but you knew it was your uncle. That was when you resumed Claire’s previous banging on the door and started yelling out profanities for them to stop hurting him. 

“Let him go!”

For a minute, you just screamed and pleaded with the guards on the other side to do as you wished, with no luck until the door suddenly opened and you stumbled back. You thought they were going to order you to quiet down, maybe smack you around a bit until you stopped, neither of which would work, but instead they grabbed you by the shirt and started dragging you away. 

“Wait, no! Not you too!” Claire begged, only being held back by another guard while they tried to shut the door. 

“I’ll be okay! I’ll come back safe!” You promised her emptily. You had no idea whether you would be making it back to her alive after this. You weren’t even sure why they were grabbing you. 

The two men dragging you led you back to the original room you were in, and you caught a glimpse of the conversation happening before you entered the room. “Who’s in Prague?” Mr. Stache asked. 

“I already told you, I don’t know.”

“Boring.”

Then, you heard screams and grunts of pain from your uncle. When they stopped was also when you entered. You were dragged over to a seat right beside your uncle, looking him over to see if there was any damage done, and catching on the two bloody fingers of his left hand. Looking at the table beside the stached man, you saw two detached fingernails.

“Ah, the entertainment is here! Maybe I’ll be able to get a more exciting answer out of your uncle through you.” 

Suddenly, the realization hit you, and you started to panic internally. Outwardly, you took your seat with grace and allowed them to restrain you against the chair. You heard your uncle start to chant a constant stream of No’s under his breath. When the man moved his chair in front of you and placed himself on it, your panic started showing in your breath, and you clenched your hand tightly to resist what you knew he was going to do. He clicked his tongue at you. 

“You know, I wish your uncle were exciting on his own. If he were, I wouldn’t have to do this to such a pretty hand. Is every body part you have this beautiful? I’d like to see,” he flirted one more time before he forced your hand open and placed the nail of your pointer finger in between the pliers’ two prongs.  

“I don’t know who’s in Prague, I swear!” Your uncle swore pleadingly. His eyes shot back and forth between you and the man in front of you, but you could only look at him. 

You stared him right in the eye and stared in yours as he asked, “Who’s in Prague?”

Your uncle hesitated, still glancing between the two of you with frantic eyes before sighing in defeat. “Margaret Cahil. Margaret Cahil is the one in Prague,” he was angry, you heard that in his voice, especially with his next words. “Now get your hands off my niece.”

You let out a sigh of relief as soon as your nail was out of the grip of the pliers and looked over at your uncle and his abused and tortured fingers. 

“Now was that so hard?” Leonard smiled at the two of you before clapping his hands together. He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it into your lap just as you were unbound from the chair. He winked at you. “Now, Ms. Nurse Lady, do your thing.”

And do your thing, you did. As soon as you realized he threw a wad of bandages, cleaning solvent, and a balm onto your lap, you immediately got to work on bandaging your uncle’s fingers, being extra gentle because you knew they had to be sensitive. You had just finished moving him to the bed by the time Claire got into the room shortly after and nearly threw herself onto your uncle if you hadn’t pulled her back in time, and told her to be gentle with him. 

She cried in his arms for the next ten minutes, all the while you caressed her hair with a sorrowful kind of gentleness. 

“He’s coming for us, isn’t he?” Claire asked after the light from a helicopter overhead shined through the window next to the bed you three were resting on. 

“If he can walk, honey, it’ll be through those double doors over there,” your uncle responded without hesitation. 

“He’ll be walking, alright. Six wouldn’t die on us, not when we needed it most,” you supplied to further supply her with assurance. You knew Six would never leave the three of you like this. Even dead, he would still probably find a way to help you, but you refused to believe he might be dead. 

Six was coming for you, and it would be soon, you just knew it. 

You looked out the window as the helicopter that had been circling above you for half an hour went crashing down onto the ground below. Your uncle stood beside you as you watched the fighting happening below. There were tens of men shooting at an unknown target through the gates across from the entrance of the building, and you just hoped the other person was on your side. 

“What’s happening?” Claire asked in a panic when she heard the crash, walking up behind you as your uncle started to scold her. 

“I told you to stay over there, please-”

“What’s going on?” She interrupted him just as gunshots interrupted her. 

“Go! Get under the bed, quickly!” You told her with urgency, pushing her forward so she was hiding under the bed with you shielding her with your body and your uncle standing in the middle of the room so if worse came to happen, he would be the first one hit instead of the two of you. 

In a moment of pure fear and adrenaline filling the air, you waited with bated breath as the gunshots came to a stop and the door slid open. 

Through the door, with his chest clad in a bulletproof vest and his arms aiming a gun into the hallway in case of any more threats approaching, stood Six. When he finally looked into the room, you saw his eyes go straight to you, and he winked. 

Claire gasped out a relieved laugh, and you hugged her as a gasp of your own escaped your lips. 

“Attaboy,” your uncle sighed out, also relieved of his appearance. 

Six walked in and closed the door behind him before nodding at Donald. “Fitz,” he said in acknowledgment. He glanced over at you every few seconds before turning to him again. “You able?”

“Well, I can walk, but I’m missing a wing,” he replied, raising his left hand to show off his wrapped fingers. 

“Can you wiggle your finger?” Six asked after closing the curtains of the second window in the room. 

“With this wing,” Donald raised his right hand, wiggling his fingers to show his capability. 

“That’ll do,” the younger man said as he handed a gun to him and then walked over to where you and Claire were standing side by side. “You two okay?” He glanced between the two of you, closing the curtains on the other window as well. Claire nodded her head, but you could only stare at the man in shocked awe. 

“Took you long enough,” the 13-year-old said.

“Sorry about that, my flight was delayed,” he provided as an excuse, though you knew he didn’t mean it literally. 

“I knew you’d catch another one,” your uncle nodded, playing along with the underlying message of the conversation. 

It was after this that you stumbled forward and gently wrapped your arms around Six’s shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat, and you let it stutter its way out of your lungs while he wrapped his arms around you in return and leaned his cheek against the crown of your head. You didn’t say a word while you were in his embrace, not even feeling the need for tears despite how you hadn’t cried yet and how just minutes ago you were desperately wanting to. You just rested your head on his shoulder and let the fears and worries of the past day and a half - hell, of the last two years - wash away. With a final inhale of his scent - like an expensive perfume mixed with blood and the earth - you pulled away.

“I missed you,” you whispered to him honestly. 

He nodded with a quirk of his lips and a squeeze of your hand. You returned the almost smile and inhaled sharply, taking a step back so all three of the people in the room were in your view. You were just about to open your mouth and ask about what the plan was when the floorboards in the hall outside creaked. Six held up a hand, indicating for all of us to be quiet. “Put these in your ears,” he told you and Claire, giving you each two rolled-up pieces of gauze to use as earplugs. You did as he asked, making sure Claire put hers in as well, and grabbed onto her hand while he aimed his gun through the wall, estimating where the person on the other side was through sound alone. He shot the gun three times, and you were instantly thankful he had given you the earplugs. A moment later, the guy on the other side fell to the floor and knocked the door back open. “You ready?” He asked rhetorically, only sparing you all a fleeting glance before he started walking out the door and leading the three of you down the hall. 

You can’t remember going down the halls until you arrived at an iron door, waiting for Six to knock on the other side and indicate it was clear. You could only remember Claire squeezing your hand for dear life as she walked by your side. 

You exited the door, still following behind Six as he led you down the path along the top of the building's walls. You crouched with the girl whose hand you held as you walked swiftly and with purpose. You didn’t feel scared. You didn’t feel anything, really. All you knew was you would get her out of here alive, and safe if it was the last thing you did. 

And it very well may be. 

When you came to a piece of concrete that extended up in a pretty shape, and was big enough to provide you with cover while Six looked around, your uncle spoke again, though it was muffled through your earplugs. “Do you have a plan? Or are we just improvising?”

“Yeah, I got a plan. You got your swim trunks?”

Just as he said that, the four of you were being shot at by Liam and his men. Six shot back at them to cover you while your uncle escorted you and Claire to the concrete gazebo next to you. You crouched down, hugging Claire while she started gasping and sobbing at the chaos around her. Six joined you a second later and crouched down beside you. 

“Alright. Let’s get ready to jump,” he prepared you all. You nodded in response and released Claire from your embrace. 

“I think I’m gonna have to take the stairs,” the older man said, sounding out of breath. 

You looked over at him with a confused look on your face. “What do you mean?”

“What are you talking about?” Six emphasized your question with a tone indicating no nonsense. 

He started wheezing, and that was when you knew something was wrong. When he pulled his hand away from his torso, the gauze that had been surrounding it was completely red, and so was a large circle on his white button-up shirt. “Not good,” he said exactly what you were thinking. 

“What the hell is that?” Six asked stupidly.

“What do you think it is?”

Taking all of your years in medical school into practice, you immediately got to work. You grabbed Six’s hands and pressed them against his wound. “Hold them there and stop the bleeding as best you can,” you ordered as if he wouldn’t know what to do. Your voice and hands were steady, surprising even you. You ripped the tie off of Donald’s neck and rolled it up in your hand. Then, you revealed to wound and started getting ready to pack it. “This is going to hurt a lot, so prepare yourself.”

Despite your warning, you barely gave him any time before you were stuffing the tie into the bullet wound to stop the bleeding from the inside. He screamed in agony, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop, not when he might die without it. Six grabbed up the gun again and started shooting at the men, causing them to run off. When you finished, you pressed against the wound tightly and grabbed his hands to press on top of it even more. 

You were staring at the wound, spaced out, when you heard your name being said loudly by the man in front of you. “Honey, I’m not going to make it.” He was still out of breath from the pain you subjected him to, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel guilty. 

“No, you’re going to be fine. Just come on and get up so we can go,” you spoke seriously. 

“No, honey. I’m not.”

“I’m not letting you die after I just did all of that to keep you alive!” You yelled out, frustrated and stubborn. 

“Six,” he said, directing his attention to the man next to you. “Get them out of here. I’m not going to make it, so take the gun and give me the grenade, and then get. Them. Out.”

“No, you’re coming with us,” Six protested, just as stubborn as you. 

“Six! Take the gun and-!”

“Get the damn gun out of my face. Shut up! I need to think!” He said, cutting him off. 

“You don’t have time to think!” Your uncle told him. You watched in real time as the look in Six’s eyes changed, and how he looked at you and Claire. “Six! I’m out. Get them gone! Now take this, and give me a hand grenade. You understand me? Now go!”

The tears you didn’t feel before were now bubbling over the surface, and you watched Six place the grenade in his hand before taking the gun and standing up. You could only sob in an advanced grievance while watching your uncle. 

He looked at you and smiled. “Take care of our girl, okay? I love you. Blood or not, you will always be my niece,” he confessed to you, and you sobbed harder. 

You heard Six grab Claire and lift her up behind her, only for her to struggle and run back to Donald. “I don’t know if I can do this without you,” you told him honestly, your voice cracking halfway through. 

He smiled sadly before Claire fell to her knees beside you and started sobbing and pleading, exactly what you’d been doing a minute ago. “No!”

“You go with Six, okay? I love you, baby.”

“No! No, no, no, not you too!” She begged, and you felt your heart break even more when you picked her up and started dragging her behind Six while the three of you ran off. 

She begged for you to stop, but if you stopped, you would never start again, and that was something you couldn’t risk taking when her life was at stake as well. You were thankful when Six grabbed onto her other hand to help you tug her along because you weren’t sure you would be able to do it all by yourself. 

You all jumped onto the railing of the ledge before jumping off into the water below, and then all you could hear was the water rushing over you. You grabbed Claire under the water and brought her to the surface, watching as she sputtered before regaining her breath. 

As you all started swimming away, it was all you could do to bite back your sob when you heard the explosion behind you. Claire started sobbing again, and you were thankful when Six took over her swimming for her and started pulling her to shore. When you got to shore, you both helped Claire first before Six helped you get up onto land and into the motorboat sitting idly. You brought Claire into your chest, where she sobbed at another one of her family members, the only one she had left, dying practically in front of her eyes. 

Six got to work on untying the boat, and you were grateful to at least have another person here with you, bonus points when that person is him. When another boat started flashing its lights in your direction, you cursed.

“Stay down,” Six ordered you.

“Six! No, come back! Six!” You whisper yelled in his direction. 

You ducked as he started shooting at the men in the car and covered Claire’s head so she wouldn’t look. You weren’t used to seeing death, but you were older than her. You didn’t want to expose her to any more of that than was necessary at her age. 

Suddenly, after Six had taken down the men in the car, Layla started running up behind him and tackling him to the ground. In a rush, you shot up to help him. “Stay here, please!” You begged Claire, knowing she wouldn’t follow an order from you, but praying she would follow if you asked her to with a voice as pleading as yours was. You ran toward them, tackling the man off of Six and onto the ground, where you landed with you on top of him as you started punching his face repeatedly. Your knuckles stung, and you wanted to stop so badly, but you couldn’t, and you knew that. It was only when you were thrown off of him, and it ended up with you below him as he started choking you out, that you stopped. 

“You know, if you weren’t such a prude with the way you keep rejecting me, I would’ve fucked you by now. But no, you had to ruin it for both of us. At least I get to choke you, even if it’s not the way you might’ve enjoyed,” Lincoln lewdly told you, pressing his nose up against yours in a way that made you squirm even more. 

“Fuck… you… Louis…” you told him, still trying to peel his hands away from your neck and gasping for air that wouldn’t come. 

Six was on the ground beside you, clutching his side in agony. He only regained that sense of urgency when he looked over and caught your eye while the air stopped being supplied to your head. The darkness started trickling into the edges of your vision when a whizzing sound was heard, and the man on top of you exclaimed in pain, his grip loosening and his attention focusing on the person who shot at him. 

He then looked over at Six, who was aiming a gun at his face, and he stupidly covered the gun with his face, ending up with two of his fingers being blown off. 

“Eye for an eye, ey?” You said, still choking on the words and gasping for air. 

You kicked him off of you and watched as Six started rolling into the water to get away from the bullets being shot at him. You ran over to Claire, who had disobeyed your wishes, and grabbed a flare gun, which she shot at Lyla. You were thankful for her saving your life, but still scared shitless about her being out in the open. 

“Thank you, you saved me. Now get the fuck back in the boat and keep your head down. Every boat keeps two flare guns in case one of them breaks, so go find the other one and be ready to aim it at anyone and everyone who poses a threat. Do you understand me?” She nodded. “Okay, now go! Go!”

Just as you saw her disappear into the boat and you let out a sigh of relief, you turned around only to be backhanded and fall to the ground. Only a moment later, you were being pulled back up by your hair and placed in a headlock with the flare gun that had just been in your hands placed against your temple. 

“Damn. At least take me to dinner first. First choking, now hair pulling, and a headlock? You move quickly, don’t you, buddy?”

“Oh, so now you want to go on a date? Sorry, Cupcake, but it’s a bit too late for that.”

You scoffed at his words and watched as Six got out of the water, now following after the two of you as Leah started dragging you into the labyrinth beside you. You dragged your feet, not on purpose at first, but then it progressively got more and more purposeful by the second. 

“Hey. Hey!” He stopped to threaten you. “Now you pick those feet up or you’re gonna end up dead real quick.”

“You know, maybe if someone wasn’t dragging me, I wouldn’t have to drag my feet.”

“Funny. Now listen. You shut up, and you don’t move, and I won’t shoot you in the head.”

You did as he asked, knowing from two experiences now that he was strong enough to overpower you and crazy enough to be true to his word. He kneeled down and pulled off the shoelaces of your left shoe, wrapping them around his missing fingers to stop the bleeding. When he was done, he wrapped his arm around your neck again and started dragging you more to the center of the labyrinth. 

“Six!” You called out when you reached the middle despite the man’s warnings of killing you. You hoped your voice would give him an easier path to the center than finding it on his own. 

It must have worked, because less than 30 seconds later, Six came walking through the entrance to the center of the labyrinth with his gun raised and aimed at the man holding you at gunpoint. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief when you made eye contact with him. 

“Now, I’m going to stop you right there, Cupcake. What do you say we wrap this up? I mean, I’m having a blast, but the lady’s gotta put the kid to sleep, because it’s way past her bedtime, don’t cha think? Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna throw me that gun, or your girl gets a new face.”

“No, Six! Don-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Levi gritted through his teeth. When Six didn’t throw the gun over, the man added some encouragement to his demand. “If your strategy relies on whether or not I’ll kill a woman, you need a new strategy.”

With that, he aimed the flare gun at your cheek and pulled the trigger. The sensation of it going off right next to your face burned, but the sound of it shooting right next to your ear is what hurt worse. You let out a sound of pain without your mind’s consent and watched as Six lowered his gun and started emptying it of the magazine and bullet in the chamber. 

Good. At least he wasn’t handing over a loaded weapon to this sociopath. 

“Cute,” Leila said after Six threw him the empty weapon across the pretty water fountain separating the two of them. “I meant with the bullets.”

“Nobody throws a loaded gun, Lloyd.”

Six started walking around the fountain, to which Liliana replied by doing the same, dragging you along with him, where your feet started to drag again. You were exhausted, and your bones were aching; he would just have to forgive you if your feet dragged while you were getting dragged. 

“You know, I think we would have been friends, you and I,” the moustached man started. “Aside from your childish sense of morality and eight-dollar haircut, we have a lot in common. It’s really a shame this isn’t gonna work out between us.”

“Oh my god, are you breaking up with him?” You gasped, only for it to turn into a grimace when the guy jammed the flare gun harder into your temple. 

“Be a dear and shut the fuck up from now on, yeah?” He asked, nodding your head for you when you refused to answer. 

You watched the way Six’s jaw set and his hands clenched from across the fountain. 

“Now, normally at this point in the night, I wouldn’t be sticking around. With the house lights about to come on, I’d find a desperate, ugly chick to lick my wounds and split.”

You bit back the retort you had for that comment. 

“But you have been a pebble in my shoe since the very beginning.” He stopped walking, which meant you did too. “And now I just don’t think I can walk away,” he waited, and a moment of silence passed by. “Guess what i’m thinking right now!”

“That you’ve overshared,” Six responded easily. 

“I think I’m better than you.”

You also bit back the sassy comment you had about that. 

“What do you say, Six? You wanna dance?”

Lexi let you go, and you spent no time rushing away from him and to the side of Six, nearly tripping over yourself in the process. 

You let yourself fall into his warm, slightly wet from the water’s, embrace. 

After a minute of silence where you just breathed him in, he spoke to what must have been a person in his ear. “Forget the shot, come get Fitz’s nieces,” then, he finally tore his eyes away from where they had been stuck on the man across the fountain to look you over. “Let me see your face.”

You obliged, pulling away from him to let him see the redness that must have bloomed on your face from the flare gun. You laughed, but it was wet with tears you held back, and you joked, “Am I still pretty?”

He didn’t say anything, but the look he sent you was something that didn’t need words to get the meaning across. 

You will always be beautiful.

He gently ran his thumb under the mark before he looked back over to Laurel and glared at him. The other man grinned cockily and threw the flare gun to the side. 

“My friend is going to meet you and Claire at the edge of the maze, okay?” He told you, and you looked at him incredulously.

“Is this your way of telling me that you’re not coming with us?”

“I got this, okay? Don’t worry about me,” he said instead of replying.

“No. That’s an insane thing to do, and you’re insane for even thinking of battling this psychopath. You’re going to fight him for what? Your ego? Just because you can? That’s a dumbass thing to do any you know it! Claire needs you in her life. She has already lost two male father figures in her life, she cannot lose another. And… and I need you. I can’t do this shit by myself. You can’t just do this.” You protested, scoffing at the idea of his doing this. 

“I have to,” he insisted. 

You scoffed, looking back and forth between the man across the fountain and back at him. “You’re a dumb piece of shit, I hope you know that.”

He smiled lightly at your behavior. Despite all of your words, your grip on his hand - despite you not even remembering grabbing ahold of it - hadn’t loosened in the slightest. “I know.”

You glanced between the two men once more before squeezing his hand in a goodbye and slowly letting your grip loosen as you walked away, up until it fell back to his side. “If you die, I’ll bring you back to life and beat you to death again, you got that?” You asked him. All you got was another amused smile and a nod of his head. With a responding nod of your own, you added on, “Kick his ass for me, yeah?” Before heading out of the maze. 

When you stepped around the corner, you heard Loretta say, “No wonder she never accepted my invitations to dinner. She already had a bitch of a boyfriend.”

And for all the gross things Lloyd had said to and about you, that one made you smile, especially since he was about to get his ass kicked by that bitch of a boyfriend. 

You sat next to Claire on the bed of the safe house you’d been taken to by the CIA after being found in Croatia. Six was taken somewhere by a medical team in a helicopter, but that was the last you saw and heard from him. Since then, you’d been asking the agents assigned to the house with you every five minutes if they had any news about them, but they either didn’t answer you or lied and told you they didn’t know. 

It had been two weeks since that day in Croatia, and you were still as shaken up about the whole thing as you were when it was happening. You needed Six. He was the only thing that could help this situation feel a little less hopeless and make you feel a little stronger, and you needed to be strong. You may have lost someone you cared about when Donald died, but Claire lost the last blood relative she had. She had no one left now, no one except for you. 

When the CIA first took you, they almost tore the two of you apart. The only reason they didn’t was because you fought tooth and nail to remain by her side. You didn’t remember actually fighting anyone, but apparently, you put two guys into the hospital before a woman with short brown hair called Agent Brewer approved and assured you that you would be by Claire’s side, especially when she found out you were her full-time appointed nurse. 

You stopped fighting after that, just making sure to take care of Claire and provide her with as much support as you could in this time of need. 

You played Silver Bird as often as you could, thankful they at least provided you with her records and record player. It kept her spirits up a little bit, but you didn’t expect her to be the same right away after a tragedy like that. Hell, you didn’t expect her to ever be the same after that. 

You just had to keep your heart open with hope that Six would come for you. You weren’t surprised he hadn’t come yet, especially with his wounds that bad, but you knew that he would come as soon as he was able. 

Until that day comes, you would stay here, in this empty room, with these empty thoughts, and this empty heart. 

A knock at your door snapped your gaze away from where you were stroking the part of your cheek Six did when you last saw while while watching Claire rummage through her records, trying to get back into a sort of routine that was similar to the one you had before the catastrophe that happened. 

“Lunch,” the soldier said. When the two of you just stared at him, he flicked his head in the direction of the kitchen like he was in a rush. “Come on!”

You stood up before Claire, offering your hand to her. She sniffed and grabbed it, allowing you to pull her up and lead her out into the kitchen. 

The soldiers made a very mediocre PB&J for each of you that both of you picked at. Neither of you had had an appetite since that night, and you were pretty sure you had unhealthily lost some weight because of it. Giving up on forcing yourself to eat, you turned to Claire. “You need to eat something, you’re still growing,” you reminded her. 

She gave you a look before glancing at your own sandwich. “You’re one to talk.”

You sighed. “I know, but it’s my job to take care of you, so please let me take care of you.”

“Well, you can stop taking care of me, now. Your employer died, I don’t know if you know.”

You stopped talking and stared at her before wrapping your arms around her shoulders and bringing her into a hug. You didn’t say anything else after that, just held her until you were both escorted back to the room you were staying in. When you walked in, you immediately noticed something was different. When you heard bird sounds, you knew exactly where that feeling was coming from. 

The door to the outside was open. 

Looking around the room to make sure there were no intruders or anyone who posed a threat to Claire’s safety, you noticed the case holding the Silver Bird record was placed on the lamp like it was on a stand. You picked it up, glancing over at Claire in confusion, wondering if she had put it there without you noticing. That theory was debunked when she shook her head no. Looking at it in more detail, you noticed the piece of paper sticking out of it that read ‘PLAY ME LOUD.’

So, following directions, you placed the record on the record player and placed the needle down, allowing the song to start. Grabbing Claire’s hand and bringing her to kneel beside you, you brought her head to your chest and covered her ears. Even after raising the volume to the loudest it would go, you could still hear the sounds of violence and death outside the doors of the four walls you had seen every second of every day for the past two weeks. 

When the door finally opened again, you saw the man you’d been holding out hope would come find you walk through. 

“Am I allowed to chew gum in here?” He joked, referencing one of the first things Claire had said to him when they first met, and you took a deep breath in for what felt like the first time since you’d last seen him. Claire laughed and ran over to him, hugging him tightly. You saw the wince on his face at what must have been his wounds being aggravated, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was here, and your heart didn’t feel empty anymore. 

As soon as Claire let him go and his eyes refocused on you, you strutted forward and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him into you and kissing him on the lips. It was something that was well overdue, if you asked yourself. You smiled into the kiss, feeling him wrap a hand around your neck to keep you from going far as you leaned back. “Thanks for coming to get us, Six.”

“Court.”

You looked at him with a confused smile, releasing one arm from around his neck to grab onto Claire’s hand, for your sake and for hers. 

“My name. It’s Court.”

You smiled wider, no longer confused. “Well then, Court. Where to next?”

He smiled and grabbed onto your hand, leading you and Claire out of the house. You covered Claire’s eyes, and she allowed you to do so without protest as you walked past all the bloodshed and gore that scattered the floors and walls. You only released her eyes from their dark prison when you were out of the house and in the black Jeep he stole. From there, you set off and started your journey officially on the run from the CIA for the rest of your lives, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[j4desblurbs]

sierra six hcs

i still have no motivation to write actual fics so here we are! enjoy :)

these are mostly concerning romantic relationships but also just some abt him too!

sfw

• this is canon but his hands are fucking huge. they basically drown yours whenever you hold hands. they also feel really nice on your hips.

• six is not the type of person to give a fuck about the way his partner looks. stretch marks, hair, weight, any of that doesn’t matter to him.

• he’s a surprisingly decent cook. there are many times where he takes care of dinner. he’s only burned it once.

• he’s got a special interest in cars (drive 2011 tease)

• he’s not big on petnames, but he uses baby, sweetheart, and honey the most.

• six is hesitant to teach you anything related to self defense or weapons because he doesn’t want to link you to his life as an assassin.

• he’s definitely touch starved. most of the physical touch he experienced was violent, so loving forms of it are new to him.

• he’s got his arm around your waist 99% of the time.

nsfw

• little bit of a breeding kink….just a little.

• calling him court makes him go absolutely feral.

• he’s bruised your hips before because of how hard he gripped them while fucking.

• he loves missionary, but also loves to bend you over.

• six likes when you tug on his hair.

• the shower is one of his favorite places to have sex.

i think that’s all i got for now….. stay tuned for a fic coming out sometime in the future :)

[lostinwildflowers]

The 4 Times Sierra Six Almost Kisses You, and the 1 Time He Does

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: Sierra Six almost kisses you on four separate occasions. However, one time is different, and you both know it.

Word Count: 14.2K

Warnings: mentions of parental death(mentioned as a plot point but not described/elaborated on; mother), almost panic attack because of grief, minimal angst, swearing, Six has some self-deprecating thoughts at the end but not bad, mentions of canon-typical violence/guns/wounds/blood/etc., just LOTS of pining and yearning for thousands of words, idiots to lovers but also friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, and Six being so husband at the end~

A/N: Hello my darlings :) I'm back with another fic for Six and I have loved every minute of it. I've missed writing so much and the brain rot is never-ending. I've always wanted to write one of these types of fics, so please enjoy and lmk what y'all think!!! :) - Birch <3

The first time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you convince yourself it is just a part of your imagination.

You had just finished up a long mission abroad - weeks away from the States and the comforts of your home. Six, your mission partner, was ready for a break as well.

The two of you had successfully eliminated an international intelligence officer and were boarding a flight to head back to America. A private flight, thankfully, but it would be hours until you were in the comforts of your home.

The sky was dark, the sun having set hours ago. It had been a long day, and the dreary feeling of the rainy night had exhaustion creeping throughout your body.

Now, with yellow-toned lights shining off of the rain sprinkling on the runway, you could catch your breath. The flashing red lights coming from the plane in front of you released tension deep within your body, a silent promise that peace and quiet were mere moments away.

The stars were trying to twinkle and dance around the sky, fighting through the light rain as you and Six finalized your plans to get home. You were thankful for the coolness the rainy night brought, it helped to calm your heightened instincts after the thrill of the chase.

Your belongings had already been taken aboard the plane while you and Six regrouped, your assignment to go home ringing in the back of your mind. Clouded with fatigue, your footsteps seemed to drag up the steps leading into the belly of the airplane.

"I'm so ready to get home," you grumble to Six, the tall man just two steps behind you, patiently waiting for you to haul yourself into the aircraft despite being splattered with unrelenting rain. You can hear him hum lowly behind you, an agreeable sound that indicates you know that he's tired as well.

The sound of someone's voice calling your name through the pitter-patter of the storm halts you in your tracks just as you begin to duck inside the plane. A frown tugs on your features as you glance over your shoulder, eyes scanning for the owner of the voice, but dropping to look at Six.

The agent momentarily glanced over his shoulder to see who was calling to you, but after realizing they didn't want him, turned back to you. You can see the lingering question in his gaze, one that you had bouncing around your head.

Who could possibly need me?

You sigh and fully turn around to face the outside air, scrunching your face as a gust of damp wind whips across the expanse of the jet walk. You shuffle to stand off to the side of the stairs, making room for Six as he pauses beside you.

You open your eyes from where they had snapped shut from the wind, slowly trailing upwards from his dark boots to his tracksuit pants. Your vision swirled around the red and blue colors of his tracksuit jacket, the raindrops racing down the water-proof material.

When your (colored) gaze finally reaches his face, you have to squint up at him. Your eyes blink rapidly to deflect the droplets falling from the sky, attempting to focus on his angled features instead.

The question still lingers on Six's face when you lock onto him, and he quirks an eyebrow as he murmurs, "You gonna see what that's about?" A sigh slides through your nose as you shrug and grumble, "I suppose so."

As you begin to slip past Six's broad form, you call over your shoulder, "Save me a seat by the window!" You can hear him scoff, and his squeaky footsteps disappear into the plane.

You begrudgingly make your way down the slick steps of the plane back to the tarmac, water pooling on the not-so-level areas of pavement. There are a few CIA-adjacent men who helped coordinate your movements that are waiting for you a few yards away.

Your squinted gaze lands on the man who had called your name, and you make your way over to him stiffly. You are tired, wet, and your body is sore from the exertion of the day.

What could these guys possibly want?

The man is wearing a boring black and white suit, his hands crossed in front of him as he awaits your approach. You come to a stop a few feet in front of him and gesture with one of your hands, "What do you need?"

The man shuffles uncomfortably before clearing his throat with a shake of his head, "Agent, I regret to inform you that your mother has suffered a heart attack and has passed away. I am sorry for your loss."

The world stops.

The whirling call of the wind grows quiet, as well as the hushed whisper of the rain. Jet engines that had once seemed to roar fade into silence, the only perceivable sound now the blood rushing through your ears.

The man's words hit you like a grenade detonating. The air seems to be sucked out of your lungs as time stands still. He simply nods at you and states formally, "We are just following protocol, agent. You may board your flight. There will be officers at the destination's airport to arrange transportation for you to the hospital."

He walks away a moment later, leaving you to stand alone with tears and rain burning at the edges of your vision. You can't breathe. You can't... breathe.

Your chest begins to heave as you watch the agent disappear into the dark of the night, panic starting to flutter in your gut. You know you're going into shock, but you have no choice but to turn back toward the plane, where the crew and Six await your return.

A shaky hand finds its way to your mouth, where it clamps down to keep sobs from escaping your lips. Your body feels like it's vibrating, unknowing on how to solve this system-wide pain.

Unbalanced footsteps start leading you back toward the aircraft. Your feet, already heavy with exhaustion, feel like lead as you take each step.

Your right hand grabs onto the slick railing, the metal cool and wet to the touch as you climb up the stairs. Your mind is at war - trying to fight your emotional, human, nature while the training instilled in you is telling you to remain steadfast.

Once you make it to the top of the stairs, you release your hand from your mouth as you take a shaky attempt at a deep breath. You use the back of your hand to wipe at the wetness coating your face, and blowing air through puffed cheeks, you ready yourself to face Six.

The flight crew was already in position as you maneuvered toward the middle of the private jet, quickly closing the hatch behind you as they readied the aircraft for takeoff.

You keep your (colored) gaze focused on the floor as you make your way to the middle of the jet. You can hear Six's muffled movements, and you recognize that the agent is pouring himself a cup of water.

He casually glances over at your approaching figure once as he pours, then rapidly darts back as he reads the emotion etched in your body language.

Slouched shoulders, not from the rain or wind. Downcast gaze. A slight hitch to your breath. Something was wrong.

Six immediately sets his cup down and faces you. To an outsider, they would say he was the image of stoicism, a neutral expression on his features as he regards you.

To you, his mission partner of countless years, you could see the concern written all over his face in one glimpse. You rush to try to avoid his gaze, but Six knows you better than that.

"What happened?" he probes gently, leaning back against the bar, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. He took his wet tracksuit jacket off. The movement distracts you from your thoughts for a moment before the pain of realization sets back in.

You force yourself to look from his chest up to his face, your eyes vulnerable and slightly timid as you note the softness in his. You open your mouth to respond, but your voice catches in your throat.

Six can feel his heart lurching in his chest at the silence that falls between the two of you, and then he starts to piece it together. He sighs and looks off to the side, his gaze clouded as he mumbles, "Who died?"

The question would have been harsh and crass if not for your line of work. You know that the words weren't meant in a careless way, just that it was the nature of life. Some were created to live until it was their time, while some were created to die before the choice was made for them.

You shut your eyes tightly as you managed to croak out, "My mom," and the floodgates opened. A sob rips out of your throat from deep in your chest, and your hands come up to cover your face as it twists in pain.

There is movement behind you, and you turn to see a flight attendant through the cracks in your fingers. You know that she's coming to tell you the plane is getting ready to take off, but Six's voice cuts in, "Give us 5 minutes," and she disappears without a trace.

Six pushing off of the bar draws your attention again, another wave of tears flooding down your cheeks. He stops in front of you, his eyes laced with deep sorrow and a crease in his brow.

Opening his arms to you slowly, he whispers, "C'mere." He doesn't have to repeat himself, and you all but lurch forward into Six's embrace as it hits you.

Despite being a CIA agent with little to nothing in your file, there was one agreement you had made with the government before you started working. You would become one of their "dirty" agents, but you would get updates on your mother, the only family you had left, if anything major happened.

Now, with them following through on their word, you couldn't help but regret that choice.

His muscular arms lock around your waist as your arms fold around his neck. Six tucks your head under his bearded chin, and he slowly works his fingers up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.

Your tears are soaking into the soft material of Six's t-shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind. He is warm and firm under your frenzied touch, which you are grateful for.

You barely hear him when he quietly says, "I'm sorry to hear that," your fingers fisting at the nape of his shirt as you weep.

Then, Six shuffles and there is a brush of something over your forehead, making your crying cease for a moment. It was feather-light, a barely there touch that just seemed to tickle your skin.

You could have convinced yourself it was just a piece of hair on your forehead from your body shaking, stuck there with rainwater. It could have been your imagination - a fleeting touch from your mother, saying everything was going to be alright.

But maybe... maybe it was Six's lips grazing your skin so tentatively. So very tenderly. So very lovingly, to try to ease your pain.

You don't have long to dwell on it, as Six pulls back a few inches from you. He catches your teary gaze and with a small, sad smile, he whispers, "I saved you the window seat."

A huff leaves you, a crinkle of a smile on your lips as you give him a nod, "Thanks, Six."

The words weren't just for the window seat. He slowly pulls himself away from you, handing you the water that was meant for him, and gestures to the seats.

Wordlessly, you take your position at the window, sipping at the cup your hand was clenched around. As the plane starts to move and the stars seem to blur into the night, you trace the spot on your forehead, wondering if the whole thing was a dream.

The second time Sierra Six almost kisses you, the two of you are working undercover. You weren't the biggest fan of covert undercover missions, but when your higher-ups told you that Spain would be your destination, well... you didn't complain.

However, you were internally wrestling over the details of the mission. You and Six had cover stories for the mission - not an uncommon thing for your line of work. The inner turmoil came with the grounds of you and Six posing as a newlywed couple traveling abroad for your honeymoon.

Deep down, you knew the mission's goal was of the utmost importance. But, you can't lie. You had been surprised at the notion of being fake-married to Six.

After mulling it over for a while, you supposed it did make sense that the two of you were selected for this mission. You had worked together for so long that you knew you could trust each other in any scenario. So despite your initial reservations and Six's usual stoicism, you put on your big girl pants and doubled down for the mission.

The mission left you and Six in the middle of Spain at a dimly lit bar. The air was thick and hazy with cigarette smoke and the heat of the day, making it a little hard to breathe.

Set in the rampant and colorful streets of Madrid, Six was on alert. You could feel how tense he was next to you, despite wearing a loose cream-colored button-up and some matching slacks to go with it. You knew he was on edge, his gaze remaining sharp as he scoured the busy bar for the target.

"Take a breath," you murmur quietly as you sip at your water. You feel Six's gaze flash over to you as you focus on the opposite entrance through the bottom of your glass.

Six shifts to try to relax his body as he leans in close to your ear, "I don't like this." You finish your sip and set the drink down, your hand delicately coming up to your mouth to fix your lipstick.

You turn to face him, giving the agent a knowing look as he finally gives you more of his attention. Six lets his blue eyes flutter from your dolled-up face and hair down to your revealed collarbones.

His gaze seems to slow when it reaches the curves of your light blue sundress. There are flowy sleeves that stop in the middle of your bicep, patterned with small white line art of flowers.

The dress cinches around your bodice, not uncomfortably tight though. You can't lie, the girls look good. From there, the dress flows out around your hips, the material light and airy to beat the heat.

You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, coughing as he looks down at his feet and then allowing his gaze to sweep over the crowd. He shuffles and rubs his hands together once, his gaze flashing back to you.

Confusion pulls your eyebrows together as you rest your hand on his shoulder and ask, "Everything alright?" The frown on your face eases as Six holds your gaze, clears his throat, and whispers nonchalantly, "Uh huh."

You leave him to his thoughts for a second, the warmth of the bar sending heat waves through your body. You shiver with some kind of anticipation, and you move to stand up off of your stool.

"I'm going to use the restroom real quick," you say lightly to Six with a kind smile, one that you know people won't see through. Truly, any smiles you share with Six come naturally. But, you are supposed to be pretending, right?

Six is almost flush against you the second you stand up straight. It makes your heart lurch in your chest at his sudden proximity, but you take a shallow breath to calm yourself down.

His right hand comes to rest on the side of your waist, his eyes sharp as he pinpoints the location of the restroom. "I'll walk you there," is all he says.

Six turns and starts to guide you around the edge of the bar, his hand shifting to rest on the small of your back. The warmth his touch brings combined with the smell of alcohol and smoke makes you dizzy.

Any other day you might say his hand drifted too low to be casual, but then you remember. He's pretending too. You take a deep breath as you reach the bathroom, turning toward Six with a practiced smile.

You let your hands flatten against his chest slowly, testing the waters. You can feel his pecs tighten on reflex but then quickly relax, and you move to straighten out the fabric of his shirt. With a soft blink you chirp, "I'll be out in a minute."

At that, you step back and push through the bathroom door. You gravitate toward the porcelain sinks, catching your reflection in the mirrors lining the walls. You grip the edge of the sink as you attempt to straighten out your line of thought.

He's just pretending. It's all for show. Focus on the mission. Don't let your desires get in the way.

Desires? Where did that come from?

You take a deep breath to center yourself and then you glance up at your reflection in the mirror. You see where your lipstick is still a bit smudged, so you reach for a paper towel to tidy up the line of your lower lip.

The air conditioning helps cool the sweat starting to form at the back of your neck, and you pat your face with the clean side of the paper towel to remove any excess oil. You throw the paper towel away and quickly wash your hands, remembering that Six is waiting outside for you.

You pull the door open, your (colored) eyes finding Six's broad frame almost instantly. You see his gaze snap over to you, his eyes once again slowly trailing up the length of your body.

He's not checking you out. He's making sure you are still put together. He's making sure no one laid their hands on you.

You pause beside him and motion with your head toward a free table. "Want to go back in?" Six just looks at you blankly for a second as thoughts race through his head.

No, I don't want to go back in. I want to take you back to that bathroom and -

He stops himself. This is you. He can't be thinking about you like that. This is work. Even if he has to pretend to be married to you, he can't think like that.

But God, he wants to.

"Six?" you question, stepping closer to him as a woman slides past the two of you into the restroom. Six seems to snap out of his thoughts at your proximity, and quips quickly, "What do you want, sweetheart?"

The pet name rolls off of his tongue before he can stop himself, and his stomach drops when he realizes the implication. He should have asked you before you went into the field if anything was off-limits.

But, when that smile of yours slides back across your lips, he knows everything is okay. You giggle for a second, selling the love-sick look of newlyweds as you rest your hand on his chest again.

"Can we get some food?" you ask with a dreamy sigh, and Six's lips tug into a smile as he nods, his hand finding its place on your back again.

As he guides you in the direction of the free table you had motioned to, he stops in his tracks and pulls you to the side quickly. He ducks down close to your ear as he rushes out, "Target is at the table in the corner on the other side of the bar."

His lips and goatee brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, and you just giggle and let your hand come up to the back of his head, pretending he told you a funny joke.

Your hand threads through the dirty blonde locks as you lean into him and whisper back, "I see him. I'll sit down, go order me a drink or something over there."

Six nods briefly into your neck, pulling back ever-so-slightly but positioning himself in front of you. The only time Six has ever been this close to you was when he hugged you on the plane.

You swear you can almost feel his breath on your face, and your heart stops when he leans in. Every movement he makes is calculated and slow, giving you plenty of time to move.

His lips land on your right cheek, gentle but firm. You could have seen sparks shooting out of the lights on the wall at the electricity humming through the air.

Six pulls back, a slight twinkle in his eye as he nods, "Anything for my girl." At that, he steps back, shoots you a wink, and walks through the smoky atmosphere to the other side of the bar.

He leaves with such a swagger to his walk it makes your knees weak. You can't help but let your powerless gaze follow him before you see movement coming from next to you.

It's the woman who slipped into the restroom after you. She catches sight of Six walking away, and with a friendly jibe she says, "You are one lucky girl!"

She doesn't wait for your answer, instead disappearing into the other side of the bar. Your hand comes up to brush your cheek where Six's lips had been moments before.

Your heart was finally slowing down from beating erratically at Six's intimacy. A puff of air pushes through your lips as you force yourself to walk over to the free table, your mind racing as you replay the fleeting touch on repeat.

Once you sit down, you close your eyes to regain your focus.

The mission. I need to focus on the mission.

And so, you push down any feelings bubbling in your stomach, your eyes flickering to the door you had originally been watching from the bar.

There will be time later to think about Six's actions.

The third time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you are on a mission following the fake-marriage ordeal. There hadn't been much time to think about Six's actions, because you were exhausted and on a flight with said man sitting next to you.

This time it was a standard, run-of-the-mill operation. Nothing too crazy or high stakes, just get in, eliminate the target, and get out. Thankfully, your higher-ups were kind enough to give you a night's rest in between the missions.

Truly, you believed it was so that you and Six could plan out your movements and be prepared, not so much as to catch up on rest. But, you weren't going to complain about catching up on some sleep.

The flight goes by silently, and after a short car ride, you and Six are left at your hotel for the evening. Apparently, there must have been an event in town that night, as the hotel lobby was crowded with people waiting to get their rooms.

Always one to pack light, Six had one medium-sized duffle bag slung over his shoulder and was standing in line just a step ahead of you. He was silent as he grabbed for his traveling card, his eyes scanning the crowd looking for threats.

You also had packed light, with just a small backpack hanging off of your shoulder and your traveling card already in hand. While Six is on alert, you can't help but let your tired eyes wander down the figure of your companion.

He's standing right in front of you, how can you not look at him?

He's tall, but you knew that. His shoulders are broad, and not even the loose tracksuit jacket he loved could hide that. Despite the flimsy material, you know there is hard, thick muscle covering his back from his meticulous workout routine.

Just as your eyes land at the bottom of the jacket towards his hips, the line moves forward. This seems to help pull you out of your thoughts and taking a step closer toward Six, you shuffle slightly off to his side.

The two of you hadn't talked about the mission you had just finished, and you were afraid to bring it up to the stoic man. You shift your weight as you glance over at Six, who now has secured his card in his hand.

His blue gaze is slightly downturned, tired, but still on alert as always. He looks over at you as you come into his peripheral vision, and he raises an eyebrow in a silent question of, What's up?

You shrug, "Waiting, same as you." The words come out a little hollow, but Six doesn't push. The interaction is slightly awkward, and you bite your tongue and pull your backpack higher up onto your shoulder.

Six sighs through his nose as his head tips back, rolling his neck to loosen some tension. Your mouth runs dry as you get a view of the tendons and ligaments flexing and releasing under his tanned skin.

It looks so inviting. So soft. So... kissable. You almost slap yourself as the thought rolls over you, you tear your eyes away from Six to look at the front desk.

Thankfully, Six doesn't seem to notice, and you rush out, "Looks like we're up," and take a step forward toward the front desk. You give the receptionist a tight smile as you start, "Hi, two rooms, please. One bed in each."

The receptionist takes both of your traveling cards to swipe you into the system, working as fast as she can. She turns to you and replies, "Here are the key cards to your rooms, top floor."

The walk to the elevator is quick but quiet with Six leading the way. It seems as though the crowd from the front desk dispersed, leaving the two of you alone.

Six presses the "up" button and steps back to resume his place next to you. You rock back and forth on your heels for a second, waiting for the elevator to make it to the ground floor.

"Antsy about tomorrow?" Six's voice comes, low and barely audible. Your head just about whips around to face him, but his gaze is still trained on the elevator.

You turn your head to look straightforward again, clearing your throat and replying softly, "Not really, just been a long week." This gets Six to look at you, a frown pulling his eyebrows taut.

"Hopefully not because you were stuck with me," he tries to joke lightly, but there is a very small hint of unease to his voice. You swear a million thoughts run through your head at his words.

No, I loved spending the week with you. I wish we could have spent longer in that fake, perfect world. Yes, it was a long week of pretending. But I wasn't really pretending, was I?

At that moment, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You use the opportunity to step forward, head ducked down. Six's arm darts out, grabbing onto your bicep to hold you still.

Your heart jumps to your throat at the contact, and then he's pulling you back against him. A second passes, and a little girl and her mother walk out of the elevator, sharing a kind smile with you and Six.

You internally groan at your own stupidity, and you hear Six murmur, "That desperate to get away from me?" You pull away from him, only to turn around and glance at him.

You frown at the uncharacteristic insecurity Six seems to be displaying, and you quickly grab his hand that had pulled you back. You sigh, exhaustion settling on you as you reply, "I'm sorry, I'm just not paying attention. I'm glad you're here with me, Six."

At the end of your words, you gently squeeze his hand. His palm is warm against your own, causing heat to bloom all across your body. This seems to ease his doubts, and now he's the one to move, pulling you into the now-empty elevator.

It takes him a second to release your hand, the doors to the elevator sliding closed behind the two of you. He silently reaches forward, pressing the button for floor 20.

There is a quiet jingle humming through the speaker, but it does nothing to ease the obvious tension between you and the CIA agent. You could kick yourself for your actions and lack of words, and you open your mouth to speak at the same time he does.

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable-" "I'm sorry if I made you feel-"

You both clamp your mouths shut and Six gestures for you to go first. You turn to face him, uncertainty lacing your features as you gush, "I'm really sucking at talking tonight, but I'm sorry if I made you feel like I don't want you here."

You take a quick breath and continue to blurt out, "I'm honestly really glad it was you on that mission and not some random agent. I don't think I would have been comfortable with anyone else and you were just so reassuring and kind to me."

You hold your breath as you try to gauge Six's reaction. You don't realize your body goes rigid as you wait, your attention focused on Six's face.

It goes from being blank to a softened, kind look that lets you exhale. Six nods once in thoughtful understanding before stating, "I was just going to say I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable on that mission with anything I did. I should have asked if you had any boundaries before we got thrown in."

You shoot him a grateful smile, butterflies welling in your stomach at the level of concern he had for making you uncomfortable. It's quiet for another moment and you mumble, "I appreciate that. But I don't think there's much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you."

Heat burns across your cheeks and ears as you finish your words, facing back to the front of the elevator as it dings for the 20th time. Quite literally saved by the bell, you step out, this time making sure there is no one in your way.

Your eyes start scanning the hallway for room numbers, looking for room #2007. You hear Six move behind you, positioning himself next to you as the elevator doors slide shut, descending to a lower floor.

Six clears his throat, seemingly trying to distance himself from the conversation in the elevator, and asks, "What room are you in?" You blink and look at your room key even though you know the answer and stutter, "Uh, 20- 2007. What about you?"

Six sighs and grunts, "2045, I guess I'm down the other hallway. I'll walk with you." He doesn't give you much of a choice, starting down the hallway with the lower numbers.

You feel your stomach flip again, the feeling of butterflies making you teeter nausea. You move to follow him though, shuffling the backpack on your shoulder and taking another breath you release as a sigh.

It only takes a few moments to find your room, and you quickly swipe the key card, deposit your stuff on the bed, and check the main room for anything hidden or suspicious.

Six had a similar thought, checking the bathroom for you before stepping back out into the hallway. You step out with him, leaving the door propped open with the door stopper.

"Thanks for seeing me to my room," you voice, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You raise a hand to your face to stifle a yawn, and you see some emotion wash over Six's face.

You can't quite pinpoint what it is exactly, but you try not to think about it as you wipe at your eyes. Six steps closer to you, his duffle bag plopping to lay on the floor near his feet.

His hand slowly comes up to your face and you instinctively drop your hands to your sides to give him access. Your breath catches in your throat and the lull of exhaustion is seemingly gone as a rush of adrenaline shoots up your spine.

The air is suddenly thick and it's hard to breathe. His hand settles under your chin, the supple touch making you shiver. He tilts your chin up ever so slightly, his gaze dark as his eyes flit around your face.

You try not to notice how they linger on your mouth for a second, but then you realize your lips have parted at his touch. You can't stop yourself from whispering, "Six, I-"

And he steps back.

His hand falls to his side and he quickly reaches down to grab his duffle. Not making eye contact with you, Six nods and dryly states, "Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning."

At that, he turns and walks down the hallway, steps even and methodical. You stand there, dumbfounded for a second until you see his figure turn into a small dot at the other end of the hall.

You lean your head back against your door, a solid thud sounding out. It may have hurt a little, but what the fuck was that?

Only when he disappears from view do you slide into your room, shutting the door with a click. You make sure to turn the lock and fasten the deadbolt, but with your mind racing, you can hardly focus.

You glance at the clock on the nightstand and recognition sets in your brain that it's late. You go through the simple steps of your night-time routine, your head swirling with thoughts of his touch. His gaze.

Just, Six.

That night, you went to bed even more confused.

The fourth time Sierra Six almost kisses you, you need him more than you care to admit. The mission had gone south, fast. Too fast.

One second, Six is next to you, firing shots toward enemy men. The following, he is getting sucker punched out of nowhere, leaving your flank uncovered.

A lone gunshot rings out, and a second later pain erupts in your thigh. The bullet grazes the outside of your right thigh, causing you to cry out as agony starts to crawl through your system.

Your yelp must have caught the attention of Six, who is in a hand-to-hand tussle with another enemy soldier. He quickly smacks the butt of his gun across the face of the man, sufficiently knocking him out.

As you regain your bearings through your bleary pain, you hear another shot ring out. This time, you locate the source of the shot instantly.

It was Six.

He has his gun pointed at the falling figure of a man who had been hiding behind boxes on the balcony above you. The now-dead man had been the one who shot you in the leg.

With the last of the targets eliminated, you slowly hobble over to Six, hissing as you shuffle around fallen weapons and men.

"You good?" you wheeze out, trying to put the throbbing sensation of your leg out of your mind as you look him over. You can tell he is mainly unharmed. He's got a cut on his forehead leaking blood down to his eye and some light bruising to go with it, but otherwise no major injuries.

Six finishes one last sweep of the room with his eyes before they lock onto you. His blue gaze darts around your face first, checking you over for wounds.

When he doesn't see anything on your head, his eyes scan the rest of your body and they freeze on your thigh. He ignores your question as he asks gruffly, "Can you walk on this?"

The material of your tactical pants has been blasted away by the gunpowder from the shot, the area now wet with dark red blood. You stumble a bit as the pain wells up, and Six's free hand flies out to steady you.

"Y-yeah, I can," you groan, and then pant, "I may need a bit of help but I can walk out of here." Six moves to stand behind you, leaning you back to rest against his chest while his hands release you.

Fingers working faster than you can comprehend through your pain, he reloads his weapon and wraps his arm around your waist. He offers you silent support as the two of you maneuver out of the room and to a planted, but safe, vehicle.

Six helps you get into the car before hopping into the driver's seat, setting off for an unknown destination. It's all a blur, though, as you flicker in and out of consciousness due to blood loss, pain, and exhaustion.

Time smudges by as trees whip past you, everything becoming a haze of blue skies and indistinct greenery. You don't realize the car has stopped until Six opens the passenger door next to you.

"We're here," he grunts as he bends down toward you, motioning for you to start shifting your way out of the car. You nod and shuffle toward the edge of the seat, your arms reaching for Six.

The Sierra agent is there in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around your torso to help haul you to your feet. Pain soars through you as the movement, your leg screaming with a sharp pulsing.

"Gah!" you yelp angrily, your weight shifting onto your left leg which is unharmed. Six slings your arm around his neck, his left hand wrapping around your waist. Another hiss of pain slides past your parted lips, and then you grumble out, "Where are we?"

Six starts guiding you toward the small building and muttering, "Safehouse, we should be good to get you cleaned up here." Your head nods in relief, your whole body feeling a wave of relaxation at the thought.

It does make you slump against Six, but he doesn't say anything as he shifts your weight to press against his hip. His fingers fumble under the railing leading up to the building, reappearing a moment later with a hidden key.

This gives you a moment to give the safehouse a once-over from the outside. It's small, no bigger than two or three rooms. The outside is simple, unassuming, and not entirely in style.

As Six unlocks the door and does a quick sweep of the place, he leaves you gently at the entrance of the house. You take a second to glance down at the throbbing in your leg, seeing dark red liquid slowly oozing.

Six reappears in front of you, grabbing your attention from your leg. He stops next to you and gives you a silent thumbs-up.

You grip the doorframe tighter as you shuffle and start, "Can you-" "Yeah, I got you," Six cuts in, moving next to you again before instructing, "The bathroom is just up here and to the right."

"Thanks," you wheeze out as Six's arm regains its place around your waist, pulling you toward what must be the smallest bathroom you've ever seen. There is hardly enough room for both of you to stand comfortably, with Six basically flattening himself against the wall to try to give you space.

"I'm sorry, there's not much room in here," Six mumbles, his voice getting quiet as he flicks on the light. You reach forward to grab the counter and you huff through clenched teeth, "It's gonna have to do unless you want to get blood on the carpet."

Six scoffs at your forced joke, slipping behind you to a cabinet above the toilet. He fishes out some medical supplies, and you stumble as you lean back against the counter for support.

"So, uh," you start, your voice catching in your throat. You clear it, trying again, "How are we going to do this? I can put the lid down on the toilet and sit on it, but that won't leave a lot of room for you."

Six glances over at you as he sets the supplies on the very edge of the counter. He lets a sigh out through his nose, his blue gaze sliding to the minimal remaining counter space and then back to yours.

You raise an eyebrow at him, your mind swirling as you picture how to get up there. "You think that'll be best?" you ask with uncertainty, and Six gives you a nod with a quip of, "It's gonna have to do unless you want blood on the carpet."

A smile tugs on your mouth as he throws your words back at you, and you playfully go to swat at his shoulder. He easily catches your punch, moving closer into your personal space.

"I'll help you up," he says gently, his free hand sliding under your thigh. Your heart flutters in your chest, and you pull your hands away from him to brace them on the counter behind you as you give the bearded blonde a nod of confirmation.

"1, 2, 3," Six counts before lifting you onto the counter, his hands firm but gentle as he sets you down. You have to awkwardly avoid the faucet, but you manage to shift until your back lays flush against the wall.

A groan quietly slides through your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as a new wave of pain washes over you. Six's brow furrows as his hands slide from underneath you to the side of your thighs, being careful to not touch your open wound.

"You alright?" he asks lowly, trying to keep the energy in the room calm as his right hand works small circles on your uninjured leg. You hiss as you shift, "Y-yeah, I'll be good. How about you? You didn't answer me earlier."

Six mentally curses at your observation skills. Even despite your pain and wounds, you were still thinking about his safety. He turns his attention to the medical supplies and tuts, "I'm doing better than you, there's nothing I can't clean up."

Without making a big deal of it, Six gently parts your thighs to give himself more room. He does it slowly and methodically to avoid your wound hitting the coolness of the countertop, centering himself as he starts to rip open the supplies.

"Let me help you," you urge, sitting forward and biting your tongue to keep a grunt of pain at bay. You move to grab a washcloth, but Six is one step ahead of you, swiping one from the rack next to you.

He quickly dabs at the blood running down his forehead near his eye, his sharp gaze focused on his reflection in the mirror. You take in the angle of his jaw, the slope to his nose.

You let your eyes wander over the face you know as Sierra Six. His cheek is a little busted from where he got sucker punched, and you know it'll be sore in the morning.

You reach up and skillfully swipe the cloth out of Six's hand, the agent's eyes widening in surprise at your movements. You turn the cloth over in your hands to find a part not smudged with blood, and you flick on the sink to wet the material.

Six moves to grab the washcloth out of your hand again, but you quickly tug it toward your chest and light-heartedly snap out, "Let me help you!" The Sierra agent knows there isn't any malice in your voice, and that you are stubborn as hell.

He sighs and glances up into your (colored) eyes, slight but playful annoyance resting there. Six leans forward, resting his hands on the countertop on either side of your thighs, waiting for you to move.

After waiting another second to make sure Six is going to let you work, you slowly bring your hand up to his face. Brushing his scruffy cheek with the back of your hand first, you feel his warmth just by the simple touch.

You then spin your wrist, allowing for the dampened cloth to make contact with the trail of drying blood on his temple. Six's gaze is almost piercing as he watches you, and suddenly you wonder if this is what Six's enemies feel like before they die.

You swallow as you pull your gaze from his, your fingers delicately swiping the cloth over the blood trail until it is gone. You then flick the washcloth to another clean side, softly bringing it up to the cut on his forehead.

When the material makes contact with the cut, he flinches in surprise, his hands moving from the counter to grab at the meat of your thighs.

In his haste, he brushes against the wound on your thigh, making you whimper in pain. Six steps back rapidly, his back thudding against the wall as he removes himself from your personal space in a flustered rush.

Surprise and guilt flood his features as he rushes out, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" "It's alright," you cut in, setting the washcloth down next to your leg, "I know you didn't."

Six swallows and tries to redirect, "I can step out if you would feel better cleaning yourself up alone." You roll your eyes at him, trying to bring the lighter mood back as you jibe, "Yeah, okay, Mr. Gentleman, Sir."

Unfortunately, Six doesn't find your joke nearly as funny as you do, and you sigh and mutter, "Sorry, can't help it." You point to your leg and continue with a softer tone, "I could use some help, though."

Six glances from your injured thigh back to your face and he gestures to your pants, "Those are probably going to need cut off or taken off to get full access to that blast wound. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You groan and lean your head back against the wall with a thump, "For goodness sake, Six, help a girl out!" The desperation in your voice is what finally gets Six's resolve to crumble. He steps forward from the wall, still uncertain, his hands reaching for the scissors next to the supplies.

"You tell me if you get uncomfortable, okay?" Six pushes, not wanting to overstep. You reach forward and grab his free hand the best you can, and giving it a squeeze you whisper, "I will. There's not much you could do to make me uncomfortable with you, remember?"

Six shoots you a quick, but more assured smile before turning his attention to the blast on your leg. He gently works the scissors around the fabric, cutting the material loose to give him access to the bare expanse of your right thigh.

You shiver as the metal of the scissors brushes against your skin, your fingers moving to curl around the edge of the countertop. Six does his best to work efficiently, cutting your pant leg completely off to reveal the wound.

He takes a moment to look at it, scanning it for any debris or dirt chunks that need to be plucked out. After not finding any, he glances up at you and murmurs, "Just gotta clean this up and you'll be good."

You give him a nod, resting your head against the wall again as a shaky breath falls from your lips. You knew that no amount of mental preparation would brace you for the sting of alcohol against your open wound. But, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, forcing oxygen into your body in an attempt to calm your nervous system down.

Six glances at you again, his gaze kind as he looks over your figure. You were waiting on him to bring the alcohol wipe over your leg, and you both knew it was going to hurt like a bitch.

"Ready?" he asks as he finishes ripping open the packet containing the alcohol wipes. His fingers gently rub at your uninjured thigh, trying to distract you for a moment.

You take a quick, short breath and chirp out, "Yep, get it over with." Six doesn't waste a second, tenderly brushing the alcohol wipe over your wound. It immediately stings.

A gasp of pain forces its way out of your mouth, and your face scrunches in agony as your right foot swings out and then slams back into the cabinets below the counter. The reflex is one you couldn't have controlled, and you clamp your teeth down on your tongue as tears rush to the edges of your vision.

Six somehow avoids your involuntary kick, trying to work as fast as he can as he bloodies wipe after wipe. His blue gaze is focused as he works, and he murmurs after a moment, "You're doing good."

He grabs a new alcohol pad, applying it directly over the heart of the wound. You cry out hoarsely, your body crumpling forward toward Six's.

He holds pressure on the wound, not allowing the alcohol wipe to slip despite your wriggling to get away from the pain. Your forehead lands at the junction of his shoulder and neck, and you brace yourself against him as tears slide down your cheek.

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes, his free hand continuously rubbing circles on your unharmed leg. When his soft touch doesn't seem to help or distract you, he kneads at the flesh instead, trying to draw your attention away from the intense burn.

This seems to help a little more, but you can't stop the sob that jumps out of your throat as waves of pain work through your body. Six is patient as he waits for you to settle down, his hand sliding up and down your left leg in another attempt at distracting you.

Only when your hand clutches at him, does Six stop. Your fingers try grabbing onto the material of his shirt, grasping for anything solid to ground you.

Six slowly turns his head to look at you leaning against his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. His hand moves steadily as he runs it over the back of your head and over your hair.

You hear him clear his throat and mumble, "Are you alright? I know this sucks."

The burn of the alcohol is the only thing your mind seems to fixate on. You want to answer him, but it feels like your blood is on fire. You open your mouth to reply, but you can only let out a strangled hiss.

Six frowns as he glances down at you, now bringing his hand from the back of your head to gently cup your cheek. The rough texture of his hands initially distracts you, your vision blurring as he pulls you away from his chest.

Your cheeks are wet with tears and you can barely make out Six's figure as you hear his voice wash over you, "Hey, hey, eyes on me. Eyes on me, okay? Do you trust me?"

Six's fingers gently tilt your head back, his thumb pad brushing away your tears as he looks over your dampened cheeks. You blink a few times, trying to focus on the man in front of you as the burn of your wound begins to ebb away.

You nod and sniffle, "Y-yeah." Your voice is weak and quiet, deprived of energy. Six gives you a warm smile, his fingers moving from cupping your cheek to quietly brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

You suddenly realize your proximity to the Sierra agent has decreased rapidly. Your face is only a few inches away from his own, and he is the only thing you can focus on.

With your vision focusing, you can now see the concern lacing his stormy gaze. There is a furrow in his brow that you know is there because of you.

Six is holding you so tenderly, so patiently. It makes your heart flutter and a lump form in the back of your throat. A second passes and you swear you can feel Six's breath on your face as he silently waits.

Waits for what? You aren't really sure. He is staring at you, calculating.

Then, he leans in slowly. You swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest as a strand of his hair tickles your forehead. At the last second, he shifts and turns his head.

Six's lips land on your cheek softly. You can feel the tickle of his beard against your skin, and it makes your fingers tighten their grip on the material of his shirt.

You feel like you could vomit, your nerve endings are in pain, confused, and happy? You are instantly brought back to your senses as he lingers close to your skin, painstakingly slow to pull away from you.

He pauses as he pulls back, now only an inch or two away from your lips. Six's eyes had fluttered closed, but now, they flicker open, gauging your reaction.

Your eyes are half-lidded. From pain? Maybe. From pleasure? ...you aren't really sure. Six is so close to you, you can't think straight. You have never felt this way before, both excited and terrified.

You know all you have to do is tilt your head and you could close the gap. But you are hardly breathing. And when Six's hand slowly removes itself from pushing your hair out of your face and cups your cheek again, you think you're going to have a heart attack.

A moment passes and Six leans into you ever so slightly, the two inches now becoming one. He subconsciously tightens his grip on you, his fingers holding your face pulling you closer.

At the same time, his hand holding the alcohol wipe on your thigh also increases in pressure unconsciously. A new, fresh wave of pain roars through your body, tearing you out of the dream-like state you had been in.

You involuntarily gasp and drawback as pain floods your system, a pang of hurt flooding over you at the way Six immediately pulls away from you.

His face is instantly stone-cold with no emotion, and he pulls his hand holding the alcohol wipe off of your thigh.

The silence is painfully loud.

You can hear every movement around the safehouse. The wind is knocking into the roof and the heater attached to the wall is creaking. Otherwise, it's just the quiet rustle of medical supplies as Six silently finishes patching you up.

He puts an ointment on a gauze pad, avoiding eye contact with you, before placing it over your clean wound. You bite your tongue as hard as you can to avoid making any noise, and you try to not move or shift as he works.

Your heart rate is slowing down, but you are left with an uncomfortable feeling of hurt, guilt, and something else you can't place.

Six finishes patching your wound by wrapping your leg with a pliable gauze and taping it off. You know the wound will need to be redressed in the morning, but you don't want to think about it.

As Six throws away the used supplies and starts to gather up the clean stuff, you clear your throat. Your voice is shaky and quiet with uncertainty when you offer, "I can-, I can finish cleaning the cut on your head."

You gaze at him nervously, your hands having released him and now lay awkwardly in your lap. Six doesn't spare you a glance as he finishes putting the supplies away and mutters, "No, I'll be fine. You should go get changed, there are clothes in the bedroom."

His words are straight to the point and very matter-of-fact. You sigh and nod, forcing yourself to move despite your leg protesting. With wobbly movements, you hop down from the counter and begin inching toward the bedroom around the corner.

Six had slipped out a moment before you, heading toward the kitchen across the hall. You grunt with effort as you latch onto the door handle of the bedroom, and this makes Six pause, turning around to look at you.

Whatever silent treatment you both shared in the bathroom seems to have dissipated. He motions toward you and prompts, "Just yell if you need help."

You know he's offering as a courtesy, but you can't help but crack a grin and call over your shoulder, "I will, I don't want to get blood on the bed too, you know. Unless you're into that sort of thing."

You don't wait to see if he responds, instead slipping into the bedroom with as much grace as you can muster. You shut the door behind you, leaning up against it as your eyes flutter shut.

On the other side of the door, Six is left with pink flooding his cheeks. He walks to the kitchen, and leaning over, grabs the countertop with both hands.

He huffs out a deep breath, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his... muddled thoughts. After a moment, he can't help but let his head drop as a chuckle falls from his lips.

A pleasant smile sits on the curve of his mouth as he replays the scene over and over in his head. Gosh, he was ruined by you. However, his smile quickly fades as he starts to mull over the interaction in the bathroom.

What a pussy you are, he thinks to himself.

Similarly, you aren't much better. What kind of wuss am I? you ask yourself as you push off the bedroom door toward a small closet tucked around by the window.

You sigh as you unbutton your pants, trying to carefully shimmy your way out of them. Thankfully, your heart seemed to have calmed down. You weren't sure how Six was going to take to you resuming your normal banter, but you hoped it would ease the obvious tension.

The tension?

It was all you could think about. And now? You knew you needed to confront whatever feelings you were experiencing. Because after today?

Sierra Six was driving you insane.

You slept on and off that night, fits of restlessness followed by sheer exhaustion that pulled you under. It was a rough night, to say the least.

The combination of your injuries and the torment of your interactions with Six left you flat-out tired. So when your body finally gave up and forced you to sleep around 3 a.m., you weren't complaining.

Six, ever the gentleman, slept on the couch in the living room and gave you the bed for the night. It was an unspoken agreement - you had basically collapsed on the bed after getting changed and didn't move.

Six knew this, and figured that he would be up for a while as the events of the day replayed in his mind. Not wanting to disturb you, he knew the couch would be his solace for the night.

The following morning, Six woke up early out of natural instinct. His muscles were sore and stiff from being crammed on the small and uncomfortable couch, but it wasn't anything a good stretch and walk couldn't fix.

With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, which read 6:25 a.m., Six knew he had a while until you woke up. You hadn't come out of the bedroom since you had disappeared the night before, and he didn't want to bother you.

So, Six makes a quick pot of coffee and does a couple of stretches to loosen his body and wake up his mind. Pouring the coffee into a sealed thermos, Six makes his way to the front door.

He slides on his boots and shrugs on a jacket that he had left on the coat rack. It was pretty cold outside - a sharp wind that cut to his core and knocked the snow off of the branches of the large pine trees around the safehouse.

A sigh falls from Six's mouth as he takes a sip of his coffee and sets out to do a perimeter check. He can't be too careful, not when you are basically out of commission. So, he does a quick scan of the vehicle he parked outside before setting off toward the edge of the property.

With the cold air biting at his cheeks, Six can't help but let his mind wander to you. You. You were... irritating to him, to say the least.

You just had to be the best thing that had ever walked into his life. From the moment he met you, Six knew that you were going to change him. And you certainly did.

His feet crunch over the snow as he walks the tree line, his blue eyes darting in and out of the wintery trees. Six watches two white-haired rabbits jump around in the snow 30 feet in front of him, pawing through the frozen flakes toward the hidden grass below.

He can't help but smile at the small animals as his mind drifts back to you. He knows you would love their cute whiskers covered with snow. Hell, you would probably try to chase one and pick it up.

The bearded blonde pushes forward, skirting around the rabbits and taking another sip of his coffee. The sun is just barely over the horizon, the woods still dark with the chill of the night. There is enough sunlight illuminating the snow that Six can easily navigate through the deep dawn, his eyes scouring the nature around him.

Six's smile fades as last night's memories flood his brain as he walks. He had been a coward. Truly, he had been a coward for a lot longer than last night.

There had been seemingly countless times when he had wanted to tell you how he felt. Deep down, Six knew you would listen to him make a fool of himself.

You were his best friend.

He didn't think he would ever have one of those, but then you showed up and flipped his whole world upside down. You were kind, reliable, and always quick with a bad joke.

You loved to banter with him, playfully jibing and quipping at each other until you got Six to smile. You had seen him through tough missions where things almost went south. You had had his back when he miscalculated things, picking up the slack like it was second nature.

You had the biggest heart despite being a part of a cruel, cruel profession. He knew he wasn't special to you when you smiled or said something kind. That was you, being you.

Six knew this from the beginning. And yet he still somehow found himself falling for you, even after telling himself he wouldn't jeopardize your partnership and friendship like that.

So now, here he was, having almost kissed you four separate times. And it was driving him crazy. It irritated him. He knew he was being a coward.

You deserved a good, kind, brave man. And Six wasn't any of those things. He lived in a kill-or-be-killed world. He didn't get to settle down and live a white-picket-fence kind of life. You deserved that.

But damn it, you had his mind bewitched. He couldn't summon the courage to tell you how he felt because he didn't want to ruin your friendship.

He knew you would be sweet about it when you let him down easy. He can picture the way your face would twist into a sad, apologetic look as you told him you didn't see him that way.

And he can't stand that.

But then another part of his brain says that you feel the same. Six knew you found some comfort in him. That was proof of when you crashed into his arms after finding out your mom passed away.

He knew you trusted him when you followed his lead on the mission in Spain, letting him guide you as if you were truly in love. Then when he helped you at the hotel? His self-restraint had barely kept him composed.

Then with last night looming in his mind... Six knew he was fucked. He had to get his shit together and tell you. It was going to eat him alive until he did something about it.

Maybe, just maybe, things would go his way. If they didn't? ...well he would figure it out. You may ask to get reassigned or pretend that nothing happened.

Six didn't want to think about that, though, and instead forces himself to continue on his walk around the perimeter of the safehouse.

Inside, you had woken up. You had heard the front door swing shut, despite Six trying to keep it from closing with a loud thud. It was slow-moving for you to get out of bed, but you carefully took your time to avoid causing yourself excessive pain.

You figured Six was probably securing the perimeter, so you didn't think it was a bad idea to get a shower and try to make breakfast.

Surprisingly, getting in and out of the shower was pretty easy, and redressing your wound seemed to breeze by. However, getting to the kitchen was a bit of a struggle, with your thigh now aching from being used and the fresh sting of ointment.

You have to hobble and hop to get the short distance from the bathroom to the kitchen, but you are immediately drawn toward the cabinets around the coffee pot.

You grab a glass from one of the cupboards above you, fiddling with the faucet to pour some water into the plain cup. You take a quick sip as you peer out the window above the sink, the sun slowly sliding up over the horizon.

The snow is tinged with pink and orange, casting an illuminating glow over the peaceful scenery. A sigh falls from your lips as you set your glass down, putting your attention on trying to find something to eat.

There probably isn't anything fresh in here, it's a safehouse for goodness sake, you think to yourself as you start rifling through the other cabinets. Inside one of them, you find a box of pancake mix that hadn't expired.

You smile at it and huff, "This'll do!" You set to work, finding a bowl to mix the batter in, as well as an old cast-iron skillet to cook with. As if it's second nature, you pour batter onto the skillet, carefully watching and flipping the pancakes as they turn golden brown.

Just as you start digging through the freezer, you hear the front door creak open. You swivel on your uninjured leg as you turn to face the source of cold air swirling into the house.

Six is standing at the threshold of the front door, surprise evident on his features as he gazes at you. You note the thermos in his hand and the heavy jacket he has covering his shoulders.

As he moves to step inside, you sheepishly smile and mumble, "G-good morning! I'm making some breakfast, if you want any." Six makes quick work of his boots by the door, shuffling out of his jacket a moment later.

"You should be resting," his voice comes out low and firm, and hearing it makes you realize how much of a comfort it brings you. You turn back toward the freezer as you try to ignore his words, but he doesn't seem like he's going to let it go.

Six moves into the kitchen with a couple of long strides, the smell of pancakes hitting him as he stops next to you and sets his thermos down. He gazes down at your shy figure digging through the shelving of the freezer, and he crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"You should be resting," he repeats pointedly, "Not digging through an ancient freezer." You ignore him for another second before smiling at something you pull out of the rusty ice box.

You finally turn to face him, shutting the freezer door by taking a step closer to the bearded blonde. You try to push down the wave of nerves you feel at the closer proximity, images of last night flashing through your mind.

You offer him the package and remark, "Then you, also, should be resting. Not taking adventures around the property in the snow." Six's gaze hovers on you for a second, a look on his face knowing he'd been beaten by his own logic.

Instead, he focuses on the frozen package you hand him. He recognizes it as a bag of frozen breakfast sausages and glances back up at you with a question in his gaze.

You shrug and motion to the stovetop, "Wanna help me? The pancakes are almost done." You start hobbling past him, a quiet grunt sliding across your lips as you stop in front of the pancake skillet, flipping the bready goodness over with relative ease.

Six can't help but watch you for a moment, his fingers growing cold with the bag of frozen meat in his hand. His heart warms as he realizes you don't hate him for his cowardice the night before.

You want his help, and damn it, he's going to help you. He moves to stand next to you again, waiting for you to finish with the pancakes.

As you pour the last of the batter into a final, very large pancake, you smile up at Six with a glance and a chirp of, "My dad used to always do this with the leftover batter. He would always eat it, no matter how ridiculously large it ended up being."

Six lets a small, close-lipped smile pull across his face as he listens to you recount the memory. Setting the bag of breakfast sausage on the counter next to the two of you, he says, "That sounds nice."

Your smile fades as you watch the pancake start to form bubbles, and you shrug, "It's just a faraway memory now." Six watches you silently for a moment before pointing at it and mumbling, "I'll take it."

Your (colored) gaze makes its way over to Six, and you see a kind look resting on his face. It makes you feel better, calming the swirling thoughts in your mind.

You give him a nod before focusing back on the large pancake, flipping it over with more difficulty. Without looking away from the pancake, you ask, "Could you open the bag of sausage and grab 2 plates for us?"

Six, without hesitation, replies, "Yes ma'am," and cuts open the bag of sausage with his pocket knife. He leaves it next to you before beginning to look through the cabinets to find the plates.

After a minute of digging around, he returns with two plates and sets them near the coffee pot. You pluck the large pancake off of the skillet and slap it down on one of the plates.

You and Six continue to quietly and comfortably work through making breakfast, with Six cleaning the used utensils while you finish frying the meats.

After the food is made, eaten, and cleaned up, Six nods his head toward the bedroom and states, "I'm going to grab some clothes and get a shower. Just yell-" "if I need help", you finish with a smile, "I got it."

Six lets a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth before he backs up and disappears from view, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You breathe a sigh of content as you are left alone with your thoughts.

That was... surprisingly pleasant, you ponder as you shuffle toward the living room on the other side of the kitchen. You let your curiosity get the best of you, skimming through the simple decorations and furniture.

You are drawn to the small side table next to the couch, and you see a blanket piled up next to one of the pillows. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings when you realize Six slept on the couch and let you have the bed.

You hadn't even thought to ask him about the sleeping arrangements. You try not to dwell on it, though, and focus on trying to find something to do.

Your eyes catch on a few books on a shelf near the wall, but you don't quite feel the energy to read something. Instead, you are drawn to a deck of cards poking out next to a small book.

Faulty footsteps eventually lead you to the shelf, where you easily pluck the box of cards up. You maneuver back to the center of the small living room, ungracefully plopping yourself onto the floor and positioning yourself with your back to the couch.

You lean back against the cushions and slightly grimace at how firm they are. You were going to have to apologize to Six for making him sleep on these all night.

Focusing on the cards in your hands, you fish them out and fumble with them for a minute. You had never been one who learned how to play cards, so you initially struggle to shuffle them. After toying with the crisp cards for a second, you start to get the hang of it.

Triumphantly, but still awkwardly shuffling the cards, a smile eases across your face. Just then, the bathroom door swings open and Six steps out, freshly dressed and showered.

Your smile widens when you see him and hold up the cards to show him your find. Six is running a towel over his head as he notices you, and he shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes before asking, "Where'd you find them?"

You point toward the bookshelf and shrug, "Just sitting over there by the books. I don't really know any card games though." Six slings the towel over his shoulder, his face thoughtful for a minute before he offers, "I can show you a couple."

The cards almost fall out of your hand at his suggestion, but you cover it up with a wide grin and a giggle of, "That would be great!" You turn around to lean against the couch again, fiddling with the cards while Six hangs up his towel.

He joins you a minute later, flopping down on the ground next to you with a groan. You snicker at him playfully, and he shoots you a glare with no malice behind it.

Six reaches over and plucks the cards from your hands, and in doing so, makes you pause. His knuckles are busted, something you hadn't noticed before. There are a couple of scrapes across them, as well as bruising around several of the joints.

You frown and reach out, gently grabbing his hand. Six stops his movements, looking over at you as you turn his palms over to look at the angry red skin on the other side.

"You're hurt," you mumble, the frown on your face deepening as a crease forms between your brows. Six lets you run your digits over his own, enjoying the soft touch of your skin on his.

Six is quiet, not uncommon for him, and you look up at him with concern etched into your features. The bearded blonde is taken aback by the intensity in your (colored) eyes, and averts his gaze, shrugging, "I've had it worse. Nothing to get upset over."

Your grip tightens on his for a second, but then you release his hand and shift to face him. You lean your elbow on the hard cushion of the couch and prop your head in the palm of your hand.

"If you say so," you reply quietly. You give him an apologetic smile and murmur, "I also owe you an apology for letting you sleep on this couch last night. This thing is terrible."

You finish your words with a giggle, your hand slipping from propping your head up to whack at the stiff material. Six brings his blue eyes to watch you, a soft look on his face. It makes your heart flutter in your chest, and this time it's you who has to look away.

He clears his throat and turns to shuffle the cards as he says, "It wasn't that terrible. As long as you were comfortable last night." There's a double meaning to his words that is so subtle you almost miss it.

As his fingers flip through the cards to shuffle them, you reach out and rest your hand on his bicep closest to you. Your features have relaxed, and you whisper, "I was comfortable last night. I- I wasn't sure if you were."

Six pauses halfway through shuffling the deck. It's quiet in the safehouse, again. While you can hear your heartbeat in your ears, this time it's not the kind of silence that makes you want to scream.

It's the kind of silence where you want to see what happens next.

He sets the cards down on the ground next to him, still not meeting your eyes. You shuffle so that you are sitting facing Six, with his back leaned up against the couch.

The bearded blonde is quiet, pensive. You slide your hand from his bicep to the hand now resting on his lap, gently grasping for it. He lets you thread your fingers through his own, and you continue quietly, "Last night, I- I thought that maybe..." and your voice trails off shyly.

"Maybe, what?" he whispers, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb across the back of it. He glances up at you, catching your gaze. You see an unusual expression there - one of vulnerability that you hardly ever see.

It hits you with a wave of butterflies so hard that you look away and try to backtrack, "I-I don't-" "Just-" he cuts you off, his voice still gentle as he urges, "Maybe, what?"

You sigh as you feel heat burn up your cheeks and start curling down your neck. You want to shove your face in your hands, but instead, you tighten your grip on Six's hand as you mumble indistinctly, "I thought that maybe last night there was a change. A, a shift or something."

You chuckle dryly as you try to pull your hand away from Six, but he holds you there in place. His grip tightening on your hand finally makes you look at him, and your wave of nerves hits you all over again.

He swallows thickly, his blue gaze stormy as he replies, "There was a shift, I felt it too." You hold your breath as you wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn't come.

Six takes a moment, his mouth parted as he tries to come up with words. He sighs in frustration, his free hand coming up to rub at his face before he mutters, "Fuck it."

Before you can ask him what he means, Six is pulling you into his lap, letting your legs delicately straddle either side of his hips. He releases his grip on your hand to grip the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair and pulling you down to him.

Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize what's happening. Your hands fly up to brace yourself on his chest as his free hand finds its place on your hip.

Despite all of this being completely new, you can't help but feel comfortable and almost as if you were made to sit on his lap. He doesn't give you long to think as he pulls you down to him.

Only when your mouth is hanging open in mild surprise, inches from his own, does he slow down. His gaze is half-lidded, but now when you search for the name of the emotion on his face, you can place it.

Six whispers hoarsely, "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop. We can pretend this never happened." You slide your right hand from his chest to the back of his neck, letting your fingers slide through the drying locks there.

Your (colored) eyes flit between his blue ones, and you whisper back, "It's all I've ever wanted, Six." And that's all it takes for him.

With electricity crackling in the air, Six closes the distance between the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat the second his lips meet yours, and you can't help the soft gasp that you let out as sparks shoot up your spine and your eyes flutter closed.

Your hand unknowingly tightens its grip on his hair, and Six lets out a throaty groan as his mouth starts to move in sync with yours. Butterflies that had once bloomed with nerves now flutter with excitement as your lips chase his, moving in perfect synchronicity.

Six pulls you closer with his grip on your hip bone, angling your head with his hand tangled in your hair. He deepens the kiss, his soft lips slotting over yours in ways you never could have dreamed of.

Your nose bumps against his as you take in the sweet taste of his mouth, something that is minty but reminds you of home. His kiss is soft and gentle, accompanied by the tickle of his facial hair on your chin and cheeks.

You find yourself becoming desperate when your lungs start to burn, but you don't want to stop. Not now, not after so long. Six seems to be in agreement, his mouth hungrily chasing after yours despite knowing you are both running out of oxygen.

The bearded blonde gives into the burn, though, and pulls back just long enough for the two of you to gasp for air. You can't stop the fire burning in you, and you lunge forward, crashing your lips against his without respite.

He catches your kiss eagerly, his hand resting on your hip sliding up your back and pulling your chest flush against his own. The angle causes your legs to burn, but not because of your wound.

Your mouth falls open at the pain, and Six seizes the opportunity to let his tongue swipe across your lower lip, testing the waters. When you willingly open your mouth for him to explore, Six swears he is in heaven.

His tongue gently explores your awaiting mouth, trying to memorize the taste of you. A soft whine pulls from the back of your throat, and Six slowly brings the kiss back from hungry to tender with his hand moving from your hair to cup your cheek.

His hands are rough on your skin, but you don't mind. Not when he is kissing you senseless. You follow his lead, though, and slow your mouth and heart down as you pour every ounce of affection into the kiss.

Six is the one to pull back, but not far. His chest is heaving, as is yours, leaning his forehead against your own. His nose brushes yours tenderly, and his blue gaze flutters open to meet yours.

Your cheeks are burning with heat when you finally make eye contact with him, and you are hit with a sudden wave of shyness. You go to glance away, but Six's hand keeps you right where you are.

He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and gentle peck, sending another wave of butterflies through your body. The hand resting on your back gently rubs up and down your spine, and you look up to meet Six's gaze for the umpteenth time.

When you gaze at him, you suddenly have names for all of the emotions you've been feeling and seeing.

But Six beats you to it.

"I have wanted to do that for so, so long," he starts, his voice scratchy but tender. He sweetly brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes before continuing, "But I have loved you for even longer, Y/n."

Your heart swells in your chest at the simple confession, and you bring both of your hands up to cup his cheeks as you smile up at him. You giggle once as you hold him close to you, basking in his words before replying, "I've wanted that for a long time, too, you know."

Six smiles at that, but you keep talking before he can respond, "I love you, Six. I- I didn't want to read too much into things and ruin what we had."

The bearded blonde gives you a grin and chuckles out, "Well I think we might have ruined what we had, there's no going back for me now." You smile at the meaning of his words and nod in response, "I suppose you're right. You could've been kissing me like that for years."

Six's grip tightens on you as he all but growls out, "Guess I'll have to make up for lost time," and he crashes his lips against yours without another word.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold on. It may have taken Six a while to get his timing right, but you weren't one to complain now.

After all, Six would make sure he made it up to you.

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Unfinished Business

Summary: Our boy has some unfinished business

A/N: Listen y'all this NSFW 18+ should be par for the course at this point. So like….just don’t okay?

As always, the inspo is thanks to the Goosecord and my beautiful partner in crime @ken-dom who constantly receives messages from me in the dead of night needing reassurance or "Hey what about if THIS happened?!"

Bless you my new found chosen sister for putting up with my antics!

This is a continuation of the first part Hello Nurse which you guys absolutely raved over and I am SO flattered (no really some of your messages really had me tearing up)

Like I said last time, this won't be the last you see of SIx

Enjoy my loves! <3

You let out a heavy sigh massaging your temples as you sat at the nurse’s station; the fluorescents were giving you a migraine and the phone had been ringing off the hook all night long. It rang again for the four hundredth time and you picked up the receiver 

“Fifth floor nurse’s station” 

“Hey, you” 

Your face broke out into a grin and you sat back in your chair twirling the phone cord around your finger recognizing his voice immediately. “Hi” 

“You on a secure line?” 

You scoffed with a small laugh “You know I’m not” you went through this every time he happened to call, and yet, he always asked. “Where are you?” 

“Somewhere cold” he always kept his answers vague. 

“Being safe?” you asked, reaching over the desk to take a clipboard from a coworker 

“Course” 

“Are you lying to me?” You asked, with a smirk cradling the receiver on your shoulder as you typed the information on the clipboard into the system. 

“Never” 

You stopped typing paying more attention to your call “You better come back to me” you said with an air of seriousness to your tone. “In one piece” 

He laughed softly on the other end 

“I’m not kidding, all your fingers, toes and…appendages” 

This caught the attention of your coworker who tilted her head curiously with a raised eyebrow; you just shook your head, hoping she’d get pulled away before you’d have to answer questions. 

“Hmm, well I’ve got some bad news sweetheart…” 

“You better be joking” you dropped your voice to a whisper 

“Would you love me any less if I weren’t?” 

You huffed with annoyance rolling your eyes “No, you idiot; now come home…I miss you” 

A page overhead for you caught your attention and you sighed “I gotta go, be careful, please” You knew better than to hope for that, he was never careful, everyone else came first. “I love you” 

“Me too, sweetheart” 

You hesitated holding up a finger to a coworker motioning overhead “Court”

He sighed and you could practically see the look on his face

“I’ve got all day” 

“No you don’t” 

“Then I guess you’d better hurry up” 

“I love you too” 

“I’ll see you soon?” you asked, knowing he wouldn’t give you a concrete answer 

“Soon” he confirmed before the line disconnected. 

You swallowed hard, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding as you pushed up from your chair. You had signed up for this, you knew that, but the knot in your stomach never untwisted itself completely until he was standing in front of you; admittedly usually covered in blood and bruises, but here and alive. 

***

It had been six months since that fateful night on the staircase; and Six had been gone for three of them. Thankfully you had managed to keep yourself busy with work, keeping your mind off of it, most of the time. 

Then you crawled into bed, alone, or he called to check in and that knot in your stomach just tightened. 

You did have to admit that when he was just a fleeting stranger who had saved your life once, and occasionally darkened your doorstep it had been a lot easier and you worried significantly less, but you wouldn’t trade that man for anything. 

You had to keep it relatively secret; it was safer that way Six had said, you were in less danger. You disagreed but he would rarely listen to reason on the topic; or he had fallen asleep before you had gotten the chance to broach it again. 

You laid in bed that night after work, wondering for the first time in a long time about Six’s past. Even though you had convinced him you didn’t need a 24/7 bodyguard and could in fact take care of yourself on occasion, and you had been….”together” for the last six months; the personal details you knew about the man were very few. 

You knew that was by design, but the thought of your parents immediate disapproval made you giggle to yourself; would be just like you ending up with the ex-convict who would end up on the wrong end of a gun one day because he showed up on your doorstep one night looking like wounded puppy.

Not that Six would even entertain the notion of ever meeting your parents so it didn’t really matter. 

***

He unlocked the door before putting the key back and quietly slipping inside before locking it behind him. 

He stumbled up the front steps, weak with exhaustion; the house was dark, but your car was in the driveway. Checking his watch, it was creeping into the one o’clock hour.

He shook the spare key out of the bottom of the ceramic goose you kept on the front porch; he had told you at least a hundred times that was an awful idea and you had reasoned if someone was going to break into the house, they weren’t going to use a key to do it. 

He slid his boots off, shedding his t-shirt as he climbed the stairs. You were curled up in bed sleeping peacefully, on his side. 

He smiled to himself, stripping off the rest of his clothes before gently shifting you to your side, you hadn’t even stirred until he climbed in behind you; arms wrapping tightly around you as he kissed your shoulder. 

“Hey,” you turned over, voice thick with sleep as you wrapped your arms around his neck “You’re home” 

He kissed you properly before you nestled against his chest “I missed you” 

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you against him as you drifted back off almost immediately and he followed suit. 

The next morning he stirred awake, the sensation of your lips across his bare chest  and up the side of his neck to his face and finally landing on his lips; your weight heavy on his midsection. 

"Good Morning," you smiled kissing him again 

He smiled, reaching to tuck a chunk of loose hair behind your ear, his large hand cupping your cheek. 

"All in one piece" you smiled, your cheeks had started to hurt from doing it for so long. 

"Satisfied?" 

"Not for months" your lips moved against his as you deepened your kiss. 

With minimal effort he flipped you on your back, pinning you to the mattress underneath; wrists on either side of your head. 

“Let's fix that then” 

Before you had a chance to respond, his lips were pressed firmly against yours, strong hands gripping your wrists as his hips made languid movements, his hard cock pressing against the inside of your thigh, your legs dropping open with ease. 

You hummed into your kiss as his tongue tangled with yours before kissing down your neck and chest. 

A small gasp escaped as his warm wet mouth enveloped your nipple. Your back arching off the bed, needing more, wanting more. 

He sucked gently, tongue grazing over the hard bud, making you shiver before trading sides and administering the same treatment to the other side. 

His hands slid from your wrists, over your sides and came to rest on your hips momentarily as he dipped lower, settling between your thighs. Your fingers pushed through his thick blond hair as he kissed the inside of your thighs. His breath hot against your core made you moan, leaning back into the pillow. 

“Court…please “ you breathed. 

Like an answered prayer, he licked a hot stripe up your centre, making you cry out, pulling hard on the hair trapped between your fingers, making him grunt against your clit before sucking you into his mouth.  

You writhed in the sheets, heels digging into the mattress. 

His hand sliding from your hip, two thick fingers pushing inside you with ease, pumping slowly as his tongue teased your clit. 

Your sighs and moans were like music to his ears. A glance up from between your thighs, your eyes were closed, face contorted in sheer pleasure, mouth open as you whined to the ceiling. 

Your entire form shuddered under the hand holding your hips steady. 

Your breathing came more laboured and shallow as he watched the flush creep over your naked body, his tongue flicking a little harder, fingers pumping a little faster, hand pressing firmer on your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he kept you from twisting out of his grip. 

Your muscles clenching around his calloused fingers coated in your arousal as your orgasm tore through your body; pulling his fingers from inside you, tongue lapping up everything you had to give. Shudders wracking your entire form, your clit sensitive and overstimulated. 

You collapsed, completely spent as Six crawled back over top of you, kissing you deeply as you panted against his mouth. 

“My turn” you smiled breathlessly as you shifted, Six propping himself against the headboard as you put yourself between his knees. 

Without hesitation, you swallowed down his length, slick with precum. A loud groan of approval over your head as you bobbed slowly, sucking gently as you felt his hands find their way into your hair. 

A loud thud, what you were certain was his head making contact with the headboard. 

His hips bucking up, forcing him further down your throat. 

The soft “Fuck” assuring you, you were doing something right. 

You moaned around his shaft, relaxing your throat to take as much down as you could manage. You let him take control as much as his position would allow letting him fuck your mouth hard and fast. 

Grunts a mixture of effort and pleasure as he slid with ease between your lips. 

His massive form twitched and he stopped abruptly, the hot, thick rope hitting the back of your throat, swallowing what you could before it became too much to handle, the excess spurting from the throbbing tip as you released him to take a breath.

You moved to wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and Six’s hand snapped out, closing around your wrist. 

You looked up and he was shaking his head. “Don't”

You tipped your head curiously with a smirk as he pulled you closer, you climbed in his lap, arms draped over his neck as he kissed you harshly, tasting his release on your tongue as he was sure you could taste yours on his. 

He scooted back down, lying you on his chest as you sighed with a satisfied hum. “God I missed you”

He chuckled softly, taking a deep breath, breathing you in, your scent invading his senses, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I missed you too sweetheart” 

He sighed, your eyes saying the things your voice wasn’t. 

Six’s time at home had been fleeting this time around; he had been here and gone again within a day and a half.

A quick kiss and he tried to fly down the stairs, unsuccessfully because of the hold you’d had on his wrist. He stopped turning to look at you. 

He pulled you against him, burying his nose in your hair as he kissed the top of your head; your arms wrapped tightly around his back as you fought to keep your composure. 

“Two weeks, tops” he whispered into your hair; you only hugged him tighter, knowing he couldn’t possibly know that for sure. 

“Make someone else go” You muttered against his chest “You just got back” 

He laughed softly, big hands rubbing up and down your arms. “I can’t…”  he pushed you back gently so he could look into your eyes “This one is personal” 

Your brow creased as your frowned “What do you mean personal?” 

His shoulders dropped as he let out a heavy sigh and it clicked “Lloyd…” you sighed

He nodded “He won’t stay in one place very long”

A strong finger under your chin lifted your head and you sighed looking up at him, the worry clear as day on your face. 

You let out a slow breath swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat; eyes  dropping to look at your shoes.

You had never met this man, but the stories were enough to never want to and even those weren’t many. He had injured someone in Six’s care, and was the reason the only person Six had even remotely considered family had died. He was a monster. 

“Please be careful” you whispered softly 

He nodded dropping his hand “Always” 

You scoffed “Not always” You reached up to cup his cheek “You better come back to me” 

He didn’t answer, just leaned forward, claiming your lips in a gentle kiss as the tears you had been fighting to hold back slid silently down your cheeks. 

He pulled back and you sighed with a sniff, wiping the tears from your face. “Promise me” 

When he didn’t say anything you closed your eyes taking a breath “Just this once, promise me, if it goes sideways, you will get out…please” 

You stood eyes locked with his, seeing that emotionless mask crack for the briefest moment before he nodded. “I promise, just another Thursday.” 

You huffed pulling yourself against him, burying your face in his chest. “No it isn’t, and you know it” 

He pulled away then and you let him go; you knew if he was going to catch this bastard he had to leave and he had to leave now. 

“Here,” he undid the watch around his wrist, holding it out to you 

You shook your head “I can’t take that; it’s too important to you” 

“Then keep it safe for me” he wrapped it around your wrist, having to do it up on the last available hole in the band so it would fit around your wrist. 

He took your face in both hands, giving you one final bruising kiss; whispering a barely heard ‘I love you’ against your lips before he was down the stairs and gone. 

You turned, going back inside, the door closing heavily behind you as you locked and leaned against it. A flurry of emotions bursting through the dam in your chest as you finally let yourself cry. You slid down the door, settling on the floor with a hard thump covering your mouth with your hand as the tears streamed freely down your cheeks. The fear, the sadness, the sliver of hope that he hadn’t just walked down those stairs to wherever, and you’d never see him again. 

You cried so hard you nearly made yourself sick before you got yourself under control and pulled yourself to your feet. 

You took a deep breath, wiping the tears out of your eyes and off your face as you made your way to the kitchen. 

You stopped halfway through the threshold, breath catching in your throat seeing the man you didn’t recognize sitting on top of your counter with his arms folded and ankles crossed in front of him. 

“Hiya Sunshine,” he smiled in a way that made your skin crawl as he hopped off the counter and your heart slammed in your chest.  

“Can I help you?” You fought to keep your voice even as a thousand thoughts raced through your mind one after the other; trying to place this man. 

“You really are easy on the eyes, aren’t you?” he asked, ignoring your question, advancing forward and you instinctively took a step back, 

“Do I know you?” you asked, mentally cursing yourself for never counting how many steps were between your kitchen and front door, but not daring to turn your back and bolt. 

“Your boy certainly does” 

Lloyd.

Your blood froze, you were sure all the colour had drained from your face then. 

“Based on the doe eyed bambi look on your face, I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say you’ve heard of me” 

“I don’t know-”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes with a dismissive wave of his hand “Don’t pull the ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about’ card, it’s just disrespectful”

You didn’t answer, just kept moving slowly backward into the living room as he moved closer across the kitchen. 

Your eyes scanning his form, not seeing any blatantly obvious weapon easily within reach. 

You took your opportunity and turned swiftly on your heel and raced for the door. 

In a flash your hand gripped the doorknob and had it been unlocked you would have been free. Instead, Lloyd shoved you against the door, his body pinning you to the unforgiving surface as he laughed maniacally next to your ear; a fistful of your hair in your hand as he pulled your head back hard, making you grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut briefly 

“Oh no, no, no, no, no” he shook his head “We’re gonna get more acquainted; see if I can figure out what it is about our boy that you like so much” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, voice strained as you turned your head as much as his grip in your hair would allow; he was watching you with a raised eyebrow waiting for you to finish. “He’s got a massive-”  Before you could finish, your head banged hard against the wooden door and Lloyd scoffed with disgust. 

“Don’t be gross, it’s unladylike” 

You scoffed with a laugh trying hard to ignore the instant throbbing headache “That’s your mistake for thinking I’m a lady Lloyd” 

Your composure was quickly slipping away as you were running out of ideas for an escape. 

“And the lady has me at a disadvantage,” Lloyd spoke slowly, his breath hot against your ear making you cringe. “I don’t really need to know your name anyway, doesn’t matter much, you’ll scream all the same” 

You scoffed “He’s gonna kill you”

“Oh sweetheart, not if I kill you first”

That was the last thing you heard before it all went dark.

[zsuo]

Ryan Gosling as SIERRA SIX in The Gray Man

[the-purest-wolf]

Those long blonde hairs and the suit are driving me crazy

[drivinmeinsane]

Family : 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Three ❆ Sierra Six / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas 2024 Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

❆ Summary: Your tenant might be a mystery, but he's one you want to try to solve forever. ❆ Rating: No mature content. ❆ Content/Tags: Domesticity, Fluff, Pre-relationship, Confessions, Six is 100% Claire's adoptive father, Use of "Court" as an alias, Set sometime post-movie canon, No use of Y/N ❆ Word Count: 1447

It’s too damn early for anyone to be functioning, but here you are—awake and making a beeline for the nearest source of easily obtainable caffeine. The faintest scuffle in the room barely lit by the first touches of dawn alert you to someone else’s presence. You are not alone.

“Good morning, Court,” you say reflexively. There is no one else it could be.

You stop to flick the light switch, flooding the room with artificial light. A yawn pulls itself from your jaws, keeping you cemented in place and prompting you to stretch your arms over your head in a spine-relieving pop. Content but still ready to sag to the floor in a crumpled heap as a sign of another sleepless night, you move the rest of the way into the kitchen to join the tall man at the coffee pot.

“’Morning,” he finally returns once you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.

His voice is still rough from a night of disuse. You’re forced to blink away the thought of hearing that near-growl pressed against your own throat after a night spent in bed together. Your thoughts about your tenant have become an inappropriate, tangled snare from all the months that he and his daughter have been staying in your spare bedrooms.

Cautioning yourself with the information that you barely know this man hasn’t put a damper on your growing feelings, even if getting a potentially real name out of him had been like pulling teeth after a weeks’ long oral surgery. He only ever pays in cash and dodges questions as though answering them would sink a bullet in him from an ever-watching sniper. Despite the red flags, you’re helplessly attracted to what you do know about him.

He’s unfathomably kind—the perfect gentleman in the way that he goodnaturedly accepts the potshots his daughter takes at him and assists you with tasks around the run-down bed and breakfast that you had inherited. He dotes on Claire without question and has seemingly expanded his orbit of care to include you. It all makes you want them to stay. Forever. The thought of the father-daughter duo moving out is enough to make you feel ill.

“What’s on the agenda today, boss?” he asks, breaking into your thoughts. He further scrambles them by leaning around you to take the sugar jar down from the cupboard. He feels scalding hot against your back. A thick arm brushes against your shoulder, the tendons in the backs of his wide hand flexing as he wraps his fingers around the container. You suppress the urge to lean back against his broad chest and instead clear your throat.

“Want to help me get the decorations out of storage? There’s some cookies in it for it if you do.”

“Deal.” His answer is abrupt. This man has a sweet tooth a mile long and an insatiable appetite for whatever has been put in front of him. Court always eats like he’s known starvation and might experience it again at any moment. It makes you wonder what kind of life he has led before winding up on your doorstep.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The task is far more of a hassle than you had thought it would be. You’re forced to stand to the side while Court squeezes himself into one of the many narrow gaps in the maze of junk that fills the attic. Your relative had been one hell of a hoarder. You’ve already made several trips. This is the final foray into the packrats’ nest.

An unintelligible grumble of words reaches your ears and you crane your neck. You catch a glimpse of your tenant. He is in the midst of crawling over a battered luggage trunk.

“You okay back there?” you call out.

“Sure,” he answers back. Then a pause, “Wait, how many cookies are we talking?”

“As many as you want.”

“Peanut butter?”

“If that’s what you want.”

In response, Court renews his efforts to get to the back of the attic. There’s clattering, a choked off yelp as he hits his elbow on some long-forgotten object, and then he’s emerging from the depths. The worn box containing the Christmas tree is propped onto one shoulder. Success.

You can’t resist teasing him once you’re out of the forlorn attic. You flutter one hand dramatically at your face and pretend to swoon after he hauls himself and the box down the rickety ladder. “Oh my, such a big, strong man out here saving Christmas,” you say, suitably breathy and awed.

You’re rewarded by Court flushing down to his chest. The pink of his skin only makes his blue eyes even more prominent. He gives a token groan at the theatrics, but still shyly averts his gaze. It’s always been easy for you to fluster the tall man.

In blushing silence, he carries the box down to the bed and breakfast’s sitting room where he sets it down with a low grunt. Something must be pulling at his side. You’ve seen him favor his left on occasion. You kneel down at his side to assist him. Together, the two of you pull the relic out of its cardboard casket and attempt to wrestle the wire branches into something nearing presentable. The two of you have just crammed it nicely in the corner when Claire’s footsteps hammer loudly on the stairs.

She busts into the room with a cheery, “Good morni—Wow, you guys have been busy and not in a fun way,” she adds with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows after taking in the boxes and tote bins scattered around the room.

A quick glance at Court reveals him fidgeting with a twisted artificial branch. He is gamely trying to ignore his daughter’s commentary. It makes you smile, even as something other than amusement flutters in your chest.

“Your dad helped drag it all out. Do you want to do me a favor and help decorate?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes, yes, absolutely.”

“Have at it,” you sat with a gesture at the waiting containers and Claire immediately leaps into action.

Court and you step back to give her room to work as she starts digging through the mess. You slip into the kitchen to retrieve your lukewarm mugs of coffee. You offer Court his and he takes it a murmured thanks. Neither of you make any effort to avoid the minute brush of your fingers.

“Will you being going to see family?”

He shrugs. “She’s all the family I got left,” he says with a gesture at the girl untangling a strand of lights. A fond smile teases the corner of his mouth before fading away. His focus shifts to you and he leans down, suddenly intimate. “How about you? Are you taking off to see your folks?”

You studiously avoid mapping the contours of his nose with your eyes and take a swig of coffee. “No… the relatives that are still around… Well, we’re not really close.”

The man at your side nods, silent. You get a peek behind his carefully amiable mask to see that there is the hardened edge grief set into his face. It’s still raw, still too fresh to acknowledge with any candor. For both of your sakes, you shake off your melancholy and reach over with your free hand. You slap Court playfully on his—frankly—massive bicep.

“Do you want to play house this Christmas?”

A long pause follows. Your fingers clench around your mug, knuckles bleaching under the pressure. It stretches on for so long that you feel your stomach drop.

Shit, you think, I shouldn’t have said that.

You’re on the verge of opening your mouth to beg forgiveness when he speaks.

“I might not be playing by the end of it.”

Oh… Oh. It’s your turn to feel your face flush.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you confess. At his raised eyebrow, you continue, “It being for real.”

A heavy hand finds a home on the back of your neck as Court draws you in, forehead to forehead. His nose brushes against yours. For a dizzying moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“You want to to be a family with me?” he asks. His breath is hot against your lips.

You nod, nearly sick with longing. You feel like you’re burning up.

“Use your words,” he prompts, voice low.

“Yes. I want that. I want you to stay. I want us to be a family.”

He gives you a praising squeeze that makes you shiver. He withdraws from your space with a crooked smile, hand dropping back down to his side.

“Then let’s be one.”

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