Scratching the Surface
Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!assassin!Reader Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings/tags: slight frenemies, American!Reader, dark themes/topics, Reader has a dark past, secret mutual pining
Summary: Raymond never had much patience for you, but that didn't mean he wasn’t curious about the mysterious and eccentric assassin who's powerful father had temporarily given her to Pearson "on loan."
a/n: This is just a short little thing I threw together about the assassin!Reader and Ray because they've been living in my head for a year now. It's just a smidgen of a look into their world. Feeback is always appreciated!
“Sit.”
You pointed a firm finger down towards the white marble floor, watching as the purebred English Pointer immediately sat back on its spotted brown haunches, tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth. A satisfied smile split across your lips as you stared down at the animal that you knew was nothing more than another possession amidst the grandness of this estate. Because as you'd come to learn on your outings with Pearson, there was always an overly obedient dog at these places.
“Good boy,” you praised.
You scratched the dog behind his ear and he closed his eyes while making a low, contented noise as your nails hit the right spot. But Raymond's sharp, derisive snort caused your gaze to shift sideways towards him, your smile fading at the condescending look on his face. He was standing near a tufted, deep purple chaise not too far from the bottom of an ornate staircase with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You were both waiting for Mickey to finish his meeting with Duke Whatever the Fuck His Name Was, given commands to stay put while he discussed the business of acquiring another estate for his work. Truthfully, you knew it was solely because your presence had a tendency to unsettle the British aristocracy.
The usual gleam of annoyance lingered in Raymond's blue eyes as he watched you interact with the duke's dog, aware that you were currently his only form of entertainment among all this extravagance. Turning your head over your shoulder as you continued petting the dog, you shot him a pointed look while arching a single perfect brow at him, surprised that he wasn’t intending to completely disregard you as he often did. Raymond was rather vocal about how much he disliked your boisterous, spontaneous nature even if Mickey and Ros deemed you an invigorating and welcome addition.
“You've gotten the dog to listen to you,” he deadpanned. “Well done.”
“You know, other living things might actually enjoy your company if you weren’t such a stringent sourdough,” you countered.
A humorless breath passed between his lips, his head shaking slowly from side to side. But despite the unbothered expression on his face, the way he reached up and tweaked his glasses along the bridge of his nose told you how he actually felt. You'd spent more than enough time silently studying Raymond to have learned each of his ticks, and this one meant that your attempts to needle him were succeeding even though you'd only just begun.
“Can you stop with the bread related insults?” he questioned. “They're rather lackluster.”
“Ahh, yes, because cunt is such an original insult,” you retorted, hand falling away from the dog. “You throw that one around quite liberally, Ray. Maybe it's time you refreshed your offensive vocabulary.”
“I immediately regret initiating a conversation with you,” he said tersely, turning marginally away from you to face the staircase. “You're too aggravating to waste breath on. I prefer the silence.”
“Oh come on, when did you lose your sense of whimsy, Ray?” you teased back. “At the tender age of ten?”
“And when did you lose your professionalism?” he shot back, staring straight ahead.
Your tongue gave a gentle cluck against the roof of your mouth, tsk-ing softly as you shook your head at him. “Poor young Ray,” you replied. “Or are you just jealous of the dog? Because if you'd like to sit on your knees for me, Raymond, I'll call you a good boy, too.”
The corner of his lip twitched to the side twice before you caught the way he blinked a little harder than usual behind his glasses. He uncrossed his arms, shifting on his dark brown Oxfords, before clasping his hands in front of himself. The corner of your own lips slowly drew back into a pleased grin, because Ray always visibly reacted whenever you blatantly flirted with him. While you found him attractive, he'd always verbally expressed his disinterest, but his body language often seemed to claim otherwise.
“Don't.”
“Don't be such a prude crumpet,” you chastised. “I'm just trying to get you to loosen up. You're always so tense. You're allowed to laugh, Ray. I hear it's actually good for your health. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
“And maybe Pearson should send you back to the States,” he quipped. His head turned marginally towards you but his body remained facing the stairs. “Back to your father. I think you've served more than your purpose here.”
The teasing smile vanished from your lips right before a cold chill crept up your spine. Always observant, Raymond's head tipped slightly to the side, his piercing eyes narrowing minutely behind his lenses. He knew the mention of your father always caused a shift in your demeanor, it was something he'd picked up on awhile ago. Whenever you really got on his nerves he'd mention him, aware that it would effectively shut you up even if he didn't understand why it did.
But he never pushed to ask the questions you could see dancing behind his eyes. Neither of you had ever done more than scratch the surface getting to know each other. You were just business partners who worked for Pearson, nothing more. You didn't need to know Ray any deeper even if you continually found yourself trying to push him a little past his boundaries.
Admittedly it was because you were envious of him. He lived his life here as Mickey's trusted right hand. He had money and luxury at his disposal, and an employer who genuinely cared about his well-being, yet he squandered all of it for the sake of remaining the tightly buttoned-up gentleman single-mindedly focused on work. You would have given anything for the type of freedom he held, a freedom you would never know.
You would always spend your life underneath your father's thumb. The daughter he didn't want, the one he'd spent his time and countless resources turning into a useful tool for his business, a blade that was an extension of his hand–merely a weapon to be dispatched. If you placed one single toe out of line or dismissed a single order, you'd cease to matter to him. You'd end up another tragic suicide story all over the news stations just like your mother had been when you were eight.
Which was why you spoke so freely ever since you'd been sent to England to help Pearson. You enjoyed the nightlife, saw the sights, explored every crevice of the cities with a wonder that bordered on childlike. You were currently on an indefinite “loan” to Pearson as a way to grow relations between your father's business and Mickey's, and it had been the closest to living your life that you'd ever been allowed, so you'd chosen not to let Raymond's insults dissuade you from it.
“Please tell me mom and dad aren't fighting again.”
At the booming, amused voice of Pearson, your attention snapped towards the massive staircase. You watched him descend the steps in his crisp suit with a broad grin on his face, but you could still feel Raymond's gaze probing at the side of your face as if he was trying to unravel all of your secrets. Forcing a smile onto your lips, you looked up at Mickey, trying to shove aside the inevitable truth that eventually you would have to return to your father's side.
“It only means you get more presents at Christmas if we split,” you joked to Pearson. “And personally, I think a holiday in Miami sounds more exciting than a cold ass winter in London with an uptight, surly baguette.”
Pearson chuckled at your usual playful insult at Raymond's expense, the delighted sound filling the foyer and brightening your mood. At least you weren't going home any time soon, and you vastly preferred Pearson's company to your father's.
“C'mon,” Pearson ordered, tipping his head towards the main doors as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Now that this is all sorted, I have a man I need you two to meet with for me.”
Raymond spun gracefully on his heels, casually falling into step after Mickey. You quietly fell into step beside him, ignoring how the scent of his expensive cologne enveloped you in its warmth and made your chest tighten. But you did make the mistake of glancing sideways at Ray only to discover that he was still studying you closely from the corner of his eye.
His lips had thinned out along his face, and the expression he wore told you that it had nothing to do with the fact that you'd once again called him a surly baguette and everything to do with the things you never said aloud. What was even more unsettling than his stare though was the temptation growing inside of you like a caged animal desperate to claw its way out and answer all of his unasked questions. Something that was desperate to finally see the light of day.
But that was a beast that remained under lock and key.
