#killsboogeyman

[whitesuited]

𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝚀𝚄𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂 ⇉ feat. @killsboogeyman

[whitesuited]

she’s far better at asking questions than she is answering them -------------- blame it on all those years working for an organization that held acquiring information in such high regard. and she was good at getting what she needed; quick, precise, and dependable. it was a skillset that kept her both in high demand and in fury’s good graces because she was useful. that was, of course, until she wasn’t anymore. and even now, in this walk of life, she’s still good at getting information. she still excels in getting what she came for and getting back out again relatively unscathed. but offering up something in return ------------ does she even know how to do that?

the lines on his upturned palm she keeps tracing as it sits in her lap aren’t being very helpful past giving her a place to focus on that don’t involve his eyes looking back at her.

not helping the matter is being stricken tongue - tied and silent now that @killsboogeyman has gone and beaten her to vocalizing a question she’s asked herself in the past when he’s come around plenty of times, but somehow always managed to talk herself out of a real answer. ‘ does this mean something ? ’ this ... this situation they find themselves in. them. that wish that’s always on the tip of her tongue when she sees him but never manages to get any further than that; the one that seems to feel more and more justified with every reunion they’ve had in a business where paths that stay parallel tend to fair so much better than the ones that cross. ( maybe that’s the sign she needs to finally acknowledge --------- the fact they keep finding their way into each other’s lives and surviving. )

now isn’t a time to play coy, or give a light - as - air answer to a question that is anything but. ( not that she ever has to question if john’s being serious about something --------- he has his moments where another side of him peeks through the cracks of the exterior he’s fashioned for himself, but more often than not she’s the one doing the teasing for the both of them. )

       “it has for a while now,” there’s an intentional pause as if she’s waiting for his hand to close up and shift away from her -------- might be just enough time for damage control if he does. a literal sleight of hand to usher in a change of subject. “what gave me away?”

[whitesuited]

last night had been a blur ------------- and not from the alcohol for once; they'd both managed to keep themselves to one generous glass each of the blanton's charon had managed to conjure up out of thin air the last time they'd stayed at the continental ( and conveniently enough ended up in her duffle bag ); and even then she'd teased it was more for medicinal purposes than anything else as she went about addressing the areas on both of them in need of a bandage or a piece of gauze.

she remembers claiming the little stopper with the horse and jockey from it for herself despite them being nowhere near draining the bottle -------- twirling it in between her fingers ( the arm that wasn't currently pinning a bag of ice with her elbow to a sore section of ribs ) while they went over their strategy for the next morning. she remembers climbing into their room's solitary bed once the glasses went dry and her side was numb enough to let her move without too much cursing; eyes fluttering closed not long after her head had hit the pillow.

and now they're in the process of opening again, the line between sleep and awake beginning to thin when she thinks she's feeling warmer than usual because of the weight of the duvet. blurry and out - of - focus at first, it suddenly becomes apparent that it isn't the comforter that's been keeping her warm -------- @killsboogeyman is there, facing her, ( at least she assumes he is since she's the one with her forehead resting against his collarbone ) his arm threaded carefully between her arm and her side; his hand resting just above her hip. her heartbeat picks up as soon as realization sets in; her ribs offer up a small protest that's going to go unacknowledged.

       "john?" she murmurs softly through a yawn, almost hoping he's still fast asleep so she can stay like this just a little longer. "you're not awake, are you?"

[whitesuited]

she's  never  been  all  that  good  at  small  talk  -----------  a  trait  that  in  what  most  would  consider  normal  social  situations  would  be  a  detriment;  keeping  her  on  the  peripheries  of  the  conversation. now  of  course  it's  an  asset  ------  never  getting  too  close,  never  letting  herself  linger  too  long,  never  giving  up  too  much  about  herself  until  she  finds  a  reason  to. knowing  he's  the  same  way  has  always  made  things  easier. there's  no  pressure  to  have  a  conversation  simply  to  have  the  noise  of  one. until,  of  course,  she  wishes  that  he  would. whether  it's  too  much  curiosity  or  concern,  she  asks  for  answers  as  to  why  they're  here  while  knowing  the  chances  of  getting  any  are  slim. even  from  him.

            'there    are    so    many    things    i    am    not    allowed    to    tell    you.'  @killsboogeyman​  says    it  like  he  knows  just  how  disappointed  she's  going  to  be  ------------  something  she  takes  into  consideration  as  she  tries  to  mitigate  how  much  of  that  emotion  in  particular  shows  up  on  her  face  and  how  much  of  it  she's  going  to  have  to  swallow  down  to  keep  him  from  seeing.

but  they're  in  the  business  of  secrets,  aren't  they?  at  least  to  a  certain  extent. maybe  it's  her  old  life  trying  to  bleed  itself  into  her  current  one;  an  attempt  to  remind  her  just  where  it  is  she  came  from  before  she  wound  up  here. before  she  was  tossed  aside  for  the  table  to  find  her  and  put  her  back  to  work. "i  know. shitty  rules  of  the  game,"  she  shifts  her  weight  from  one  hip  to  the  other,  the  way  her  nose  crinkles  up  maybe  not  doing  as  good  of  a  job  masking  her  disappointment  as  she'd  expected  it  to. "and  we  know  how  much  they  like  their  rules."

she  offers  her  hand  to  him  with  a  sigh,  palm  up  and  empty,  a  curl  of  a  finger  suggesting  she'd  like  the  pistol  he'd  been  loading  placed  in  her  hand  so  she  can  take  the  first  shift  of  keeping  look-out. "still  -----  wouldn't  mind  a  little  company."

[fortislumen-archive]

adrenaline.    pumps  through  her  veins  SO  loud,  jane  cannot  hear  anything  but  her  own  heartbeat.    for  someone  who  hates  when  missions  turn  into  a  bloody  mess,  she  had  enjoyed  tonight  much  more  than  she  should.    in  fact,  she  probably  has  doubled  the  number  of  hits  from  her  entire  career,  in  one  night,  yet  jane  wouldn't  hesitate  doing  this  again  to  protect  a  close  friend.    said  friend  who  stood  not  too  far  from  her,  catching  his  breath.    she  figure  she  was  NEVER  going  to  hear  the  end  of  it  after  her  stunt  tonight,  having  tracked  him  down  just  in  time  before  it  all  started,  giving  john  no  choice  but  to  allow  her  to  fight  alongside  him.    they  made  it,  TOGETHER,  with  a  trail  of  destruction  behind  and  around  them...    how  fun.    ❝  i'm  a  fuckin'  mess...  ❞    words  are  said  in  a  whisper,  followed  by  a  moan  of  pain  mixed  with  exhaustion.    her  legs  are  so  close  to  giving  out,  she  can  see  them  trembling  where  she  had  ripped  her  evening  dress  for  better  mobility,  a  trail  blood  going  down  her  arms  as  she  leans  back  against  a  wall.

@killsboogeyman​​   said:   “  you’ve never looked more ravishing.  ”

with  that,  her  eyes  that  were  closed,  open  within  seconds.    a  glare  is  thrown  his  way,  gun  that  was  still  held  by  her  grasp  moving  from  side  to  side,  as  if  she's  using  it  to  decide  her  next  move.    he  was  a  TOTAL  mess  himself,  and  the  same  words  could  be  said  about  him.    but  why  speak,  when  she  can  do  something?    throwing  the  gun  far  away  from  her,  landing  against  a  glass  that  breaks  immediately,  she  closes  the  distance  between  them.    her  lips  crashing  against  his  as  if  her  life  depends  on  it,  both  hands  planted  on  the  back  of  his  neck  to keep  him  right  there,  for  the  few  minutes  they  have  before  they  need  to  run.

[whitesuited]

silence  between  the  two  of  them  is  nothing  new  ------------  he's  probably  the  only  person  she's  ever  known  that  manages  to  make  the  absence  of  conversation  feel  just  as  comfortable  as  the  buzz  of  it. five  years  worth  of  life  to  catch  up  on  puts  dents  in  the  quiet  here  and  there;  the  bits  and  pieces  that  underground  gossip  glosses  over  and  misses.

            ❝  did  you  pray  for  another  life  ?  ❞  @killsboogeyman​  asks  when  she  holds  her  hand  up  for  him  to  pass  her  the  cartridge,  eyes  focused  on  the  task  at  hand  until  she  hears  the  familiar  click  of  metal  on  metal  locking  itself  into  place. "maybe  when  i  was  new  to  all  this.  i  hoped  it  was  more  a  pit  stop  than  a  destination,"  this  ------  exchanging  lives  for  gold  coins,  learning  how  to  navigate  under  the  weight  of  the  table;  this  already  was  her  second  life. the  first  had  been  kind  enough  to  leave  her  high  and  dry  with  little  notice  and  fewer  options  all  those  years  ago  -------  so  when  the  high  table  offered  her  a  chance  to  survive,  she  took  it.

(  now,  of  course,  that  same  organization  wants  both  of  them  dead. how  times  change.  )

            "i  don't  think  i  can  honestly  say  i  thought  i'd  still  be  here  years  later."  there's  that  saying  -------------  beware  of  an  old  man  in  a  profession  where  men  usually  die  young,  right?  it  means  something  much  different  sitting  there  on  the  other  side  now. "we  don't  have  the  best  retirement  rate,"  no  matter  how  stubborn  she's  always  been  about  it,  there's  a  part  of  her  that's  always  thought  another  life  after  this  one  was  too  unrealistic  to  consider  anyway. (  three  seems  a  little  greedy,  though,  doesn't  it?  considering  all  that  she's  done  in  this  second  version  of  herself?  )  

but  he'd  gotten  himself  out  once  before  ------  "maybe  we'll  both  get  lucky  this  time."