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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 months

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don’t think (vincent mancini x reader)

summary: (y/n) is determined to expose the truth behind the Corleone family and Vincent... well, he’s Vincent.

warnings: angst, swearing, alcohol, blood, violence, verbal abuse (sorta), crime (duh), fluff-ish

words: 5.3k

notes: it took me a ridiculous amount of time to finish this, but at last, here i am. also this is nothing but me fulfilling my own needs for him in this robe. i regret nothing

When his eyes dart over to hers, (y/n) stares right back at him, with the glimpse of a curious gleam in her own. She knew who he was, obviously; it was impossible not to these days. Standing before her, talking to three men in black suits, was the most feared man in New York, maybe even America. His family and alleged crimes weren’t exactly secrets anymore, if they ever were. However, with the FBI constantly getting more and more informants, their reign was soon to be extinguished and, consequently, completely exposed to the public once and for all.

There is a time and a place for everything. And no matter just how unpredictable you claim or even want your life to be, every now and then, the stars align to grant us what is rightfully ours. But sometimes, what is ours isn’t necessarily something we wanted in the first place. That is Vincent’s role in (y/n)’s dull excuse of a life. And that’s why, despite being actively involved in the confabulations to his demise, the girl couldn’t help but wonder what he would do then, as it seemed his sole purpose was living like a hustler, similar to every man in his family before him. Could he do anything else with himself, she wondered.

What more could become of Vincent Corleone?

Her thoughts are interrupted by his gaze shifting to hers once again. He nodded in acknowledgement and his mouth curled up slightly at the corner, causing (y/n) to hold back an amused expression. He tilted his head and his brows furrowed in interest at the broad, causing her to chuckle under her breath. (y/n) reckoned the ladies probably weren’t so keen on flirting with a mafia boss nowadays, and with that in mind, she raised her glass in a silent invitation. Because sure, he might be dangerous; but he is still pretty interesting. It would be a good story to share in the office tomorrow, if anything.

Vincent lifts his own drink in response, his stare lingering on her whiskey-wet lips, and (y/n) snorts softly. He approaches her table, and she points with her chin, her demeanour screaming of amusement—and perhaps some entitlement—, “don Corleone, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He flashes a charming smile and hums, with a sultry tone, “I have heard a lot about you, (y/n).”

“Let’s keep it professional for now”, the girl keeps grinning, motioning for him to take a seat. She watches as he moves to the chair, holding eye contact all the time. His suit is perfectly ironed, his dark hair is neatly brushed back, and there is that damn sparkle in his chestnut orbs. It feels as if he could devour her whole by that look alone, and a faint shiver goes up her spine at the thought. “It’s miss (y/n) for you.”

Vincent clears his throat, still sustaining a smirk. “I see. Miss (y/n), it’s a pleasure. Now, what would a fine woman like yourself be doing alone at this bar? Surely you have scores of men ready to buy you drinks and offer their jackets?”

“Is this an offer?”, she glances at him playfully, sipping her whiskey. “Because while I surely love to hold men hostage over my looks to get a few drinks for free, I’m afraid it’s my night off.” (y/n)’s unblinking look remains on his figure, albeit her face stays friendly.

“And I’m usually not one to buy women drinks. Makes me look needy, you know? But I just had to ask.” Corleone offers her a genuine smile, the hint of a blush running across his cheeks. “You really are incredibly beautiful.”

“Don’t worry about looking needy, anything you do won’t change that.” She laughs quietly, leaning back in her chair. “And I’ll gladly take you on that offer, my friend. Whiskey. Dirty.”

He laughs and snaps his fingers at the bartender. “You got it, miss.” The waiter pours her drink and slides it over to her. Vincent orders himself a whiskey as well, peering into the brownish liquid as he motions for a toast. “To meeting you.”

“Salute.” She smiles cheekily, gulping her shot at one go. “So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Corleone. How’s the FBI treating ya? I heard you’re having some occasional encounters with them”, she hums, perhaps encouraged by the alcohol, but she’s not really concerned he’d do anything to her for asking a few questions, let alone at a public space. Vincent looked like a gentleman first, ruthless criminal second. At least that was her impression at first glance.

“Things with the feds are... interesting”, he beams, taking another sip and then leaning on his hand, looking into her eyes as he speaks; his voice smooth, low, and warm. He’s playing his game, she is very aware, and (y/n) can admit to herself it’s working a little. Only a little. “You know, miss (y/n), when I ask myself what makes the FBI tick, the only thing I can figure out is money”, he wiggles his brows, as if to reaffirm his point. “Money buys loyalty, money buys power. And that’s why the feds are so powerful. It’s not the guns, it’s not the suits; it’s the money."

“That’s a unique way of looking at it.” She rounds her glass with her index slowly, studying its emptiness. “I guess you could say the same thing about the mafia, or are you not self-aware enough for that?”, she looks up at him to see his reaction. The broad can’t help but want to push his buttons, see how far she can go with him, no matter how unwise that might be. Powerful men just make her giddy and curious, like a child with a cat.

Corleone chuckles softly, not minding her provocativeness. “Maybe I’m not. I’m a man of many faults, my hypocrisy is one of them.” When he speaks again, his voice is huskier. “You’re perceptive. I can tell you’re smart.”

“Too smart for my own good.” (y/n) snorts, trying to hide her shudder. She then waves a dismissive hand, gesturing around the tables, “these people here, they’re living better than me. Ignorance is bliss in this world.”

Vincent laughs heartily and makes another toast. “It’s the biggest flaw of humanity, in my opinion. No one wants to think about how the world works, because thinking is hard. It’s easier to just go through life without asking questions”, he pauses, scanning her discreetly with his strong eyes. “Unfortunately, it’s the people who question things that make change in this world. People like you, princess.”

“So I assume you make a lot of effort not to stay ignorant?”, she raises her brows, crossing her arms slowly, and her cleavage flashes out to him unconsciously. “Because you don’t look like it. How could the worst man in this town be so clueless? I don’t see it.” (y/n) shakes her head a bit, letting a faint smile appear on her cherry lips.

“Now, why would I wanna be clueless, miss (y/n)?”, his eyes flicker towards her breasts for a moment before returning to her face again, with a curious look.

“Why wouldn’t you?”, her gaze becomes more intense, and her smile fades gradually, making way for an inquiring expression. “Is there anything better than simply not worrying?”

He scowls and leans in slightly, meeting her stare just as intently. “Ignorance is a disease, sweet cheeks. And I’m not a diseased man. I prefer to see things as they are rather than how I wish they were. If I see a problem, I fix it. That’s how I live my life and I’m not gonna change anytime soon.”

“That’s funny.” (y/n) stays where she is, unaffected by his closeness. Her eyes fall on his mouth for a second, then go back up. “You’re not a diseased man, but where you go, death follows”, her voice is quiet, but the edge is there; unrelenting, waiting for him to crack. “Why’s that?”

Vincent, on the other hand, doesn’t appear at all fazed. Rather, he seems to be enjoying their banter as he takes another sip from his drink. “My family came to this country with nothing, we built our empire from scratch. People respect the power that my family now commands. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve killed people to maintain that power. Death is just a by-product of doing what’s necessary to keep the family safe”, he considers smoothly, casually, as if speaking of a banal transaction. This realisation makes her uneasy.

“You are crazy”, (y/n) says half-heartedly, reclining in her seat and tapping her fingers on the wooden table lightly to hide her edginess.

“Maybe”, he snickers, his scowl slowly dropping. “Like I said, I’m a man of faults. My biggest one is my loyalty to my family sometimes, as that doesn’t always make me do what you might deem as the ‘right thing’. Sometimes, I gotta do the necessary thing.”

She smirks and nods. “Be that as it may, I hope the FBI does their job. People keep dying because of you, good people. And you don’t get to decide if they should live or not”, her voice is still gentle, albeit her words are piercing now.

Despite looking somewhat offended, Vincent maintains his cool, finishing up his whiskey. “Death is a part of life, sweetheart, we can’t all live happy and free. Sometimes the world needs men to do dark things, to keep their families safe. That’s just the way it works.” He leans back and glances into his half filled glass.

“You sound like Michael Corleone.” (y/n) muses, studying his demeanour with a close eye. She thinks back to the days she had to interview his uncle. Back then, he seemed like a broken man and she almost felt sorry for him, were it not for her knowledge of all his crimes, including his own brother’s murder. It appeared as though the Corleones were destined to go down that route and deep inside of her, she caught herself wishing for Vincent to somehow find a way out and escape it. God only knows why. “And that’s a shame. You could’ve been your own person.”

If Vincent is bothered by her subtle jabs at this point, he doesn’t let it show, still offering her a gentle smile. “We think alike on a few things because we’re family, I suppose.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, beautiful”, she cackles, gazing around the bar. It was empty except for the two of them, and she sighed. Time went by pretty quickly.

“And what makes you sleep at night, miss (y/n)?”, he opens a sour, nearly venomous beam, in spite of the unchanging silkiness in his voice. “You keep throwing polite insults at me, so surely it’s no surprise that I’m curious about the state of your holy conscience.”

“I apologise if I was too honest, it’s the whiskey.” She shrugs, looking a bit tipsy indeed. “But I don’t take back what I said, not one goddamn word. I hope they catch you. You’re a bad, bad man, Mr. Corleone.”

The girl rests her chin on her hand to watch him smugly, also taking the moment to admire his features. He is quite handsome, undeniably, notwithstanding all the atrocious things he’s rumoured to be doing, and the damn drinks don’t exactly help her think rationally. While her words say one thing, her body tells him another completely.

And Vincent, to his own credit, catches her flirty body language, raising his now empty glass again with a sly grin. “To bad men then, my dear.”

(y/n) can’t help but blush, rolling her eyes and getting up from her chair. “It was... partially a pleasure, Mr. Corleone.” She bows jocosely, stumbling as she takes a step backwards.

That was an exchange that should’ve never happened, and (y/n) wishes she knew that sooner. Going back home that night, she mused her boss would probably have her head on a plate if he caught wind of her little interaction with Vincent Corleone, since she didn’t actually get any juicy information about the Bronx killings. But, in her humble defence, he wouldn’t have given her anything anyway. Doesn’t matter how into her he looked, Vincent didn’t seem easily fooled by curves to the point of revealing his connections in the underworld, apart from being a very responsible drinker; at least in her company.

With a sigh, she threw herself on the bed and turned off the lights, letting sleep take over. The next day, of course she woke up with a headache. Sometimes she regretted not actually enjoying her college days, as it would probably have helped build some alcohol resistance today. The broad whined quietly before getting up and shuffling her kitchen cabinets for some aspirins. As she searched for the pills, her telephone started ringing. She winced at the loud noise, picking up quickly.

“Hello?”, she mutters sleepily, and her boss speaks rushed in the line. “Mick, I have a headache.” She sighs and he slows down, but still sounds very anxious, and (y/n) widens her eyes when he’s finished. “I’m going right now!”

(y/n) changes in the blink of an eye and storms out of her apartment, leaving the door open. There had just been a killing at the exact same sight as the last one, but this time, they found prints. Corleone associates’ prints. Arriving at the scene, she pulled out her notepad and her pen, walking to the few officers without hesitance. They tried to tell her off until she convinced them to give her at least a clue. It appeared to be a reckoning of some kind, and they were getting sloppy, as the prints were found and catalogued only a few hours after the crime.

Now, who in their right mind would’ve been so stupid as to make a mistake like this, when the FBI was already so far up their ass? It almost felt icky to her, and it stunk of snitching into the mafia, not just arrested associates trying to reduce their sentence. The thought bothered her for some reason, because weren’t these people all about loyalty? (y/n) took a few more notes before turning around and walking to the street to get a cab. Her eyes were still on the notepad when a strong, tall body bumped into hers.

She gulps, in a mix of surprise and fear. “Mr. Corleone.”

Vincent’s eyes are sharp and intense as ever, and he looks over the area before turning his gaze back to her, with a menacingly puzzled look. He puts his hands in his pockets, sounding polite, yet not as much as the last time. “Seems you and I had the same destination today, miss (y/n). I trust this wasn’t a coincidence?”

“Surely.” She smiles softly, trying to walk past him, but he doesn’t let her, hardening his jaw. The girl glares at the man, despite shaking like a leaf. “Excuse me?”

Vincent scoffs, clearly impatient. “You followed me here, didn’t you?”, he doesn’t move, but his look is as serious as hers. “Spit it out now and maybe I’ll have mercy.”

(y/n) lets out a fake laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a call from my boss”, she grits her teeth, still forcing a smile. “And you people are getting sloppy, you know? Not even a day until they found prints?” She chuckles, raising a brow, “Michael would never make a mistake like that in his day.”

Vincent stares at her, his mouth going from a thin line to an upside down smile. His voice has lost its earlier friendliness and he takes a step towards the woman, a look of anger on his face, “why are you following me?”

“I follow the story, not the characters.” She pats his chest, nodding once. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got work to do.”

(y/n) tries to leave again, and he grabs her arm firmly. “You don’t think you’re part of this story, (y/n)?”, his tone is low and almost threatening now. “Last chance. Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Who sent you?”

The girl tries to shrug him off, but it’s to no use. “Let go or I’ll have you arrested right here.” She glances over at the cops standing at a distance from them.

“Those coppers would get down on their knees if I told them to, so cut the bullshit”, Vincent pulls (y/n) closer to him, his eyes burning. “You wanna try me, baby? I’ll make you scream", he smiles cheekily, but it’s empty. He lets go harshly and steps back, putting his hands back in his pockets as if nothing happened. “We’re just talking here, right?”

“You don’t scare me”, she speaks with conviction, adjusting her coat, even though her voice trembles ever so slightly. “And your threats better stop right here. You might be a powerful man, but you’re not invincible. Everyone’s got a weakness.”

“You know what, (y/n)? I have a lot of respect for your courage as a female reporter, trying to cover this story”, Vincent grins and takes a step back. “It’s a shame I can’t trust you.”

“I’m flattered that a despicable criminal like you doesn’t trust me, as it speaks volumes about my character”, she fakes another smile, taking a step to leave. “Have a good day, Mr. Corleone.”

“That’s the nicest compliment I’ve heard this week!”, Vincent laughs out loud, not stopping her this time. He stays where he is, raising his voice so she can hear him from a distance. He grins from ear to ear. “You have a great day, sweet cheeks!”

A week later, (y/n)’s working late hours every day on her investigation into the Corleone shenanigans. Her eyes are red and tired, but she perseveres. This story could make her entire career and clean New York’s streets from the biggest mafia family in town. Nothing sounded better. She had begun taking precautions, obviously, like changing her locks and only moving around in cabs. She did her best not to be alone at any given time, which sucked for her. Alone had always been her only moment of something resembling peace.

Her last encounter with Vincent left (y/n) feeling anxious, unsurprisingly, yet it fueled her to find out more about the killing sprees inside the mafia. Her intuition rarely failed her and something in her gut said someone was trying to take out his own boss and perhaps covering his tracks. The dates were too close, and the second time was sloppier than before. Whoever he was, the guy was getting desperate. But with no proof, no sources and obviously no acquaintance with the Corleones, it was like walking into a dark room with a blindfold.

A sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the newspaper from last month, where the Bronx victims made it to the front page. Her chest tightened as her mind turned one of their faces into Vincent’s, his skull completely destroyed by a bullet. For some reason, the thought of his death bothered her to no end. Yes, he was a criminal, but he should pay for his crimes as the law states: in federal confinement. She was extremely against the death penalty, after all. But not only that, the girl still saw something in him she shouldn’t; a man. Not a monster, not the face of a bloody organisation, not his family’s last name. Just a man.

As she’s gathering her things to leave, her boss calls her. (y/n) picks up while walking towards the elevator, pressing the first floor. “What’s up?”

“You’re gonna interview Vincent Corleone in a few days”, Mick’s voice is calm and casual, as if he just told her news about a football game.

(y/n) stops in her tracks, standing motionless before the elevator doors. “I’m gonna what?!”, she exclaims, not really knowing what else to say. She couldn’t talk much about that subject, not to her boss. If he found out she’d been conducting an investigation on a mafia family by herself, and that the Don himself knew about it already, she would be out of a job in no time.

“Look, my dear, Leslie’s in Paris right now, she’s not gonna make it in time and you’re the only one who’s not gonna throw up in front of the guy”, he keeps talking like it’s the normalest thing in the world, to do a piece on a known and widely feared mafia boss like Vincent, and she has to scoff quietly. This has to be a joke. “This is big, we’re gonna get you the cover.”

“Mick, you have got to have lost your mind”, her voice sounds a little shaky as she walks into the elevator, finally getting to the first floor. She holds the phone tightly against her ear as she strolls towards the street and calls for a taxi.

“Don’t you know him already, anyways?”, Mick asks, and a keyboard being pressed can be heard in the background of his speech. “It’s even better, he’ll open up to you.”

The girl wants to roll her eyes, but keeps listening. Suddenly she stops for a moment, getting an insight. Conceding an interview to a newspaper right after yet another public scandal? This doesn’t sound smart. Vincent’s either too desperate to think straight or he has an angle. She just can’t see it right now, but maybe asking him a few questions might help her with finding the traitor... The only problem was facing him after the polite offences—as he had called it—she offered him, intoxicated and now sober.

(y/n) gets into the cab and whispers her address to the driver, turning to look at the window as she sighs. “If you count me insulting him for two hours straight while shamelessly flirting with too much alcohol in my system as ‘knowing’, then yes.”

“You left that part out, huh?”, he says sarcastically, sounding a little worried now.

“Look, you gotta find someone else”, the car stops in front of her building and she pays the nice man, giving him a wave as he drives off. (y/n) walks up to her apartment as she searches for her keys. “I really can’t do it. This guy… he’s a creep. I would feel uncomfortable”, she lies mercilessly, not caring that the statement sounds contradictory to her earlier confession of their encounter in the bar.

“The interview will be in his house next week”, Mick states bluntly and hangs up.

(y/n) looks at her phone with a stunned expression and takes a deep breath, entering her home and slamming the door. Great. Now she just has to figure out a way of getting out of the Corleone mansion alive.

♡♡♡

“How’s the weather up there from that high horse of yours, doll?”, Vincent’s familiar tone comes from behind her and (y/n) turns to face him with a plastic smile, her legs shaky like two sticks in the wind. His smirk is almost disgusting, as he walks to her side and leans on the balcony slightly, giving her a look over his shoulder. “Sunny like you, I’d wager.”

Somehow, the girl managed not to go crazy throughout that stressful week. After a few more arguments with her boss, she gave in to making the damn interview—or rather, her need to have a job surpassed her fear of ever coming close to Vincent Corleone again. Sure, she did her part of exposing some of his dirty deeds to the public, but from behind a computer screen, everything is much easier and safer. Although, safety in that case would always be but a false reading of the cruel reality. Many of her colleagues had paid the price before her for wanting to tell on the mafia’s crimes, and that’s mainly why she persisted. At the end of the day, her life was a small sacrifice for the ultimate goal. Sooner or later, a journalist has to come to terms with that.

The car ride to the Corleone mansion was surprisingly quiet, yet inevitably tense. She was taken there by their own private chauffeur. He wasn’t very talkative, but she figured he wasn’t paid to chitty chat with some terrified journalist in his backseat. Going through her notepad, she reviewed all her questions for the billionth time. Not that she had any hopes of at least getting three of those answered by Vincent, as she knew well he had a mesmerising ability to make the conversation flow in the direction he wanted it to—by force or otherwise.

When (y/n) arrived in his home, some twenty minutes ago, she was readily greeted by Vincent himself wearing nothing but a silky red robe, which barely covered his slim yet athletic body, dark hair dishevelled like he had just woken up. A striking difference from the neat smokings he bore in public, and one that made her cheeks blush ghostly. Oh, it wasn’t that early, by the way. It was past noon and her stomach turned at that image of him even though she made a point of not eating anything before; that way, it would be harder for her to throw up eventually.

Here’s the funny thing about gangsters: they’re not usually the most well mannered chaps and Vincent, of all people, wasn’t gonna be the exception. His charm was only extended to his good looks and often annoying boldness, which was duly noted again by his complete disregard to appear proper in her presence while in his own home. From that very moment she knew that afternoon was going to be a complete disaster, starting with the raunchy outfit and the way her eyes couldn’t help but wander to his chest hair—and in her defence, his in specific would certainly be a sight to behold on anyone. Or perhaps that’s what she kept telling herself as he babbled about the architecture of the mansion, even though she had asked a question about his childhood before all of…

This.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Vincent”, (y/n) blurts out, cutting him off when he was in the middle of describing the texture of the walls surrounding the garden. His brows lift in amusement at her words and he holds his chin up, daring her to keep defying him. To hell with this. She could be trembling like a chicken, but that man was starting to really get on her nerves. “Just answer the question, or you can say no and I’ll move on to the next.” Her tone is firm, and she holds his gaze unblinking. “How did you start in this life?”

And like that night in the bar, Vincent’s demeanour quietly goes from playful to slightly annoyed. He stands up straight, towering over her. “Look, sweetheart, your little investigation ain’t gonna get you far in life”, his tone is deep and nothing like the sensual one he usually uses with her. Stepping even closer, he adds, “word of advice? Just go home. This ain’t your problem, so don’t try to make it your problem.”

(y/n) scowls. “If I wanted a safe job, I wouldn’t have become a journalist.”

“I don’t fucking care”, he takes her arm forcefully, looking down at her enraged. She flinches at the pain, trying to shrug him off unsuccessfully. “You’re gonna get yourself killed and I don’t have time to babysit you, so get the hell out now while you can.” So they are trying to kill him. Point to her gut.

His hot breath hits her face like knives cutting through her skin, yet she doesn’t back down. With watery eyes, she holds her head high to challenge him, her ragged breathing touches his chin in the same burning heat. For a split second, she can swear he’ll grab her by the hair and take all his anger out once and for all, God knows how, but a loud noise comes from the living room and they both turn their heads to find two masked figures pointing guns at them. Before she can even process what’s going on, Vincent drags her to the side and shots are fired in their direction, breaking the glass of the door to the balcony. She screams in horror and covers her ears.

“Fuck”, Vincent grunts as he keeps her body shielded with his, trying to peek inside the house to see if they went out of bullets. It appears so.

He swiftly stands back up and takes out a pistol out of nowhere, shooting the men in their heads. They both fall dead on the ground and (y/n) is in shock, but somehow grateful he did that. Blood splattered on the stupidly fancy walls and wooden floor, running toward the balcony where she was sitting in a foetal position in the corner. Watching the thick redness touch her feet, a jarring realisation came to her mind: Vincent Corleone just saved her life. Him, the very man she feared would truly hurt her only seconds ago. The man she saw behind the monster.

He crouches down again, pulling her into his arms, and her entire body is boiling hot. His hand strokes her hair delicately and the sensation soothes her nerves instantly, causing her to cling to him pathetically. (y/n) grips his robe tightly, taking deep breaths to calm herself and maybe try and get back to her senses. But it’s useless when their eyes meet and he grabs her by the neck, savouring her mouth without so much as asking for permission. Typical Vincent.

A soft, humble whimper leaves her lips, and it’s still not enough for her to try and pull away. The kiss is messy and sloppy and her legs begin to shake again. Her fingers reach his hair and pull his strands a bit, causing him to moan against her mouth. She feels a wetness brushing against her abdomen and when she opens her eyes again, they widen in worry. He’s bleeding.

“It’s just a graze, sweetheart”, he chuckles under his breath, smirking while she still looks concerned, pulling his robe aside slowly to take a look at his wound. “Don’t hold your panties in a bunch.” (y/n) wants to roll her eyes, but she’s more focused on studying the bruise on his tanned skin. Vincent holds her chin between his fingertips and pecks her lips gently, nothing like the urgent kiss from before. She sighs and tilts her head a bit, unable to formulate any words yet. This was a turn of events she wasn’t expecting. He senses her hesitancy and glances at her seriously, his eyes gleaming with such intensity that she was left breathless again. “Don’t think.”

(y/n)’s lips curl up in the corner of her mouth, and he helps her up and away from the bodies in silence. Her hand holds his involuntarily, maybe in a childish attempt at finding comfort in this new situation in which she knows, deep inside, she’s not alone. Not after today. When their gaze meets one more time, all she sees is the chestnut irises that made her stomach stir with butterflies that night in the bar with too much alcohol in her veins, except she’s never been more sober in her life. And it’s clear as day. There’s nothing but him and his annoyingly handsome crooked smile. She gives his palm a faint, yet so telling squeeze. This is what Vincent Corleone could become.

Hers.

#self reblog

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 months

Text

trying wasnʼt enough (jack ryan x reader)

summary: Absence is a funny thing. It implies history and every story has to come to an end. Inevitably.

warnings: angst, fluff-ish, swearing

words: 1.6k

notes: based on the bell by first aid kit. lol bye

I tried hard to be brave

I tried hard not to be afraid

But trying wasnʼt enough

(y/n) sits on the edge of the bed as Jack walks across the room, carrying his packed bags. He stands in front of her, appearing tired and annoyed, “why do you always have to make me feel like the villain?”

“Oh, that’s right, how dare I”, she scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief and anger. “Because you’re the hero, aren’t you? How dare I question you, how dare I criticise Mr. Perfect?”

He sighs deeply, expanding his nostrils and looking away. This is going nowhere, they both know it. Dropping his luggage on the floor, Jack leans down so his face is level with hers. He speaks slowly, carefully, softly; like someone explaining something to a child. It only fuels her ire further. “You’re not being fair. What I do in the agency is important.”

“When are you gonna understand that I have the right to feel angry at this… this situation?”, her voice is but a whisper, breaking in her throat as the words come out. His brows furrow in something reminiscent of remorse, but it’s ghostly, nearly invisible. “Maybe I’m not being fair because this isn’t a fair situation.”

“And what’s fair to you?” Jack comes closer and stares into her eyes, his demeanour full of displeasure albeit he’s clearly containing himself. “Just because you don’t see me, doesn’t mean nothing’s going on. I’m doing this for us!”

“You being here with me, that’s fucking fair!” She shouts with a frown and Jack remains silent, his gaze unreadable. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t even flinch this time; his orbs hard and sharp as she adds, “that’s what I deserve.”

When being brave simply isn’t enough, what more is there to be? Resentful. (y/n) felt like anything she did inevitably led to her drowning in her own ocean of resentment towards Jack. His blue shirt now hung from the chair, moving with the soft wind coming from the half open window. He had left in a rush, something to do with the mission of the moment. She grew used to it; being second to his duties as an agent. If she called him a spy, he’d get angry and shut down for a whole week. Things only slightly went back to normal after he took her out for dinner. His career had always been an issue between them, because when he willingly leaves such an important part of who he is a secret—no matter how many euphemisms John’d find for that word—to his partner from the beginning, it means he set his priorities straight even before she occupied any position in his circle. First work, then her. And as it was from the very start, so was the end.

How could he be so distant, she wondered, yet so overbearing at the same time? Washing the dishes in silence, she reflected on the occasions he’d left her feeling weak and defenceless in his presence, surely thinking he was doing quite the opposite. She understood his protective nature to an extent, sure; being a Marine and now a field agent came with its own set of triggers and traumas. He lost a lot of people he cared about, and it seemed as though caring about her was like reliving—or rather, anticipating—every pain he ever felt when losing someone. But even though she held such empathy for his struggles, his behaviour left her in a crossroads. Jack was too busy with his work to go to therapy and work on himself, after all. She never felt quite any opening from his part for her to even dare suggest it, anyway. It seemed so trivial in the face of the things he had to endure for the “greater good”, as he had call it time and time again. The girl left out another heavy sigh.

She was dating fucking Captain America.

(y/n) places a washed cup on the sink and stares at it, her mind spiralling into the last two years of her life with Jack. Her eyes fill with tears instantly and she takes a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. When people leave your life, it shouldn’t be such a big deal. They have always come and gone, haven’t they? But the word “missing” does describe the stupid feeling very well. It’s not the longing for them, it’s the quiet laugh to that stupid joke she’d tell everyday that isn’t there now. What was once, just isn’t anymore and when people leave, that’s exactly what happens; they’re somewhere else, not with you. And so there’s this insistent empty place which was filled not so long ago. The clock on the wall keeps ticking and the candles on the table melt all the same. Nothing happened, yet everything’s gone.

“Don’t do that”, Jack murmurs in the back of her memories. His words keep echoing like the sound of a ghost. He torments her every time she lets him. And she lets him more often than not. His glance is still slightly angry, but now also buried in desperation. He didn’t want to leave. It was clear and she couldn’t see it through her tears. “Please, don’t do that.”

“You’re never here anyway”, that was the last thing she ever told him. And just like that, he was gone the next day. “It won’t change anything”, was the quiet addition, after he closed the door behind him. Such a fucking lie. How could nothing change, really, when he was the reason for everything?

Walking towards the bedroom, she can’t help but laugh humorlessly at the things neatly organised. He cleaned it all prior to leaving this morning and a sad chuckle escapes her lips again. Back when they were in Moscow, she noticed right away he would be the type to drive her crazy over some dirty laundry on the floor. And she was right. They often had little arguments about domestic stuff, yet somehow, those were the best moments she could’ve spent with him. Going back and forth all day, teasing, bickering like two children was strangely soothing to her heart. Perhaps it meant that he was fallible, just like her; he could be picky and stubborn and annoying too, as opposed to his sober and unmoving nature, always in control. And it was like a breath of fresh air, to witness John let himself feel things even if for a period of time.

“Come here”, Jack coos as he pulls her closer, burying his face in her hair and sniffing deeply. She’s still a bit annoyed about their debate earlier, but he’s feeling cuddly today, rocking her body back and forth with his. There’s a playful beam on his features as he mutters, “stop being so stubborn, that’s my brand.”

“You have a lot of them”, she sticks her tongue out and he laughs soundly, tickling her sides. (y/n) gasps and tries to escape his grip to no avail, big long arms holding her firmly in place. She eventually gives up and his lips meet hers in a gentle, delicate kiss. Her heart flutters in her chest as he squeezes her body against his, smothering her as he ever did. A small smile shows on her face and he follows her as they exchange knowing gaze. “I love you, Dr. Ryan.”

He pecks her gently, caressing her chin, “I love you too, silly.”

Could it be that those shared moments with Jack always felt so utterly overwhelming because it was a rare thing to occur? Her stomach turned at the faint memory as if someone had been playing with her guts and she took a step back, leaving the bedroom and slamming the door. Every single thing in this house now reached her senses like poison and she just wanted to scream.

Running towards the backyard, her eyes fell on the little bedside table Jack had been working on. He made a habit out of doing woodwork and it wasn’t finished yet. She sat on the floor and studied the object thoroughly, even though her knowledge of carpentry was about the same as her knowledge on maintaining a long distance relationship: fucking nothing. But just as she’s going to let herself drown in tears one more time that day, (y/n) hears steps coming from behind and turns her face to look at Jack standing tall, leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed.

He’s frowning, but seems more upset than mad at this point. “Are you gonna finish that for me?”

She snorts despite herself, eyeing the wood parts still waiting to be put together. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to call Greer for that. I’m no carpenter.”

That gets a small laugh from him and he sighs. “I’m sorry, (y/n)”, Jack blurts out after a few seconds of silence. She stares at the grass under her feet as he approaches, sitting beside her with his elbows leaning on his knees. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her, but his hot breath hits her cheek as he continues, “if anything, I’d like you to know that I tried.”

His words sting. They sound soft and broken at the same time, and when she glances back at him, his gaze is so gentle. Ryan searches her face in deep thought, studying every inch of it as he’s used to and (y/n) simply nods, her eyes misty with unshed tears. “I know.”

From the rust that lies deep in its throat

I hear solemn tones

The danger, the absent floors

In the silence of night, he lets me know

That I’m not coming home

#self reblog

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 months

Text

Prague getaway (jack ryan x female oc)

summary: “Oh, loosen up already.” Randy leans back and shoots him a teasing look. “We’re gonna be here a long time, might as well hold hands and start singing Kumbaya.”

warnings: angst, blood, violence, swearing.lots of it, light smut, fluff

words: 10.7k (:O)

notes: jack ryan girlies rise!! i put my whole pussy in this. also its my first time ever writing with an oc so bear with me lmao.

CENTRAL EUROPE

Birds chirped outside and the loud chatter coming from the street was a bit distracting from the sound of TV, but Randy managed. Her plate faced her on the coffee table, now empty, along with a half filled cup of apple juice. It must have been past noon while she had the time of her life laying on that dirty and ancient couch, watching some Czech program about the Internet. And by the time of her life, she secretly meant being bored as hell. Tagging along with Jack Ryan wasn’t even on the list of the worst things that could’ve happened to her given the circumstances, by the way, she’s well aware of that—seeing as her life was now on the line and he was only there to protect her—but goddamnit, was that cable shit. The things she did to put Jim at ease.

Although the girl didn’t really agree with his tactics to go about it; Johnson just knew better than to argue with Greer. After she started getting on his nerves with her insistence on using the intel she acquired and he actually took her seriously, it had been noticeable he came to think of himself like a father figure to her, since she was a rookie in the mission department. And Randy simply let him feel that way. Being away from his family ever took its toll on the guy and contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t the clueless, selfish bitch everyone made her to be.

Always, anyway.

Jack glances at her spread out on the sofa, trying to keep his annoyance in check and failing miserably. “What are you watching?” His voice suggests he’s very affected that Randy herself doesn’t appear fazed by their current situation. At all.

They had been stuck in that shithole for six hours now, completely in the dark as to where the mission stood after the shady organisation of the moment—as Johnson liked to put it—crushed into their hotel rooms and chased them out of town. And despite not exactly considering the capital of the Czech Republic under a terrorist threat for his idea of a nice vacation, it certainly beat having to now share some dirty kitchenette in the outskirts of Prague with the most insufferable woman he’s ever met. Jack caught wind of the discrepancies in the way they did their job from the start, and to say he wasn’t pleased with hers was an understatement. Her so-called intel had led them to that place, and her negligence above it all bothered him to no end. That and the ever present snark. He wondered how in the world did that character make it to the agency. She should’ve been in publicity, instead.

“A nice TV show about ordinary people wanting to become influencers”, Johnson responds in that tone of hers, with an almost sweet smile. Ryan’s mouth moves as though he’ll say something, but decides not to. He has better things to do with his time than to argue with a brat. Jack simply stares at her green eyes and sighs, going back to his computer screen, and Randy snorts, “well, Jim did mention you don’t like having people around.” Her feet move back and forth as she watches him type. “I’m like you in that way, you know?” Closing the distance between them, she brushes some stuff off his eyelid carefully, and it’s clear the man wasn’t expecting that. He tenses up. “So, my bad. I don’t wanna be here any more than you do, but you know Greer.”

“Is that so?” Jack blinks, scanning her face up and down wryly. “In that case, you’re free to leave anytime you want.”

Johnson laughs heartily, contrasting his impassive demeanour. “You do have a sense of humour, Jackie! I’ll give you that.” She shrugs and grins, with a declare to her voice, “and to answer your question: maybe I’d try to, but I’m not skilled enough to outsmart a Marine, I’m afraid.”

Jack looks away, still typing on the keyboard mechanically. “You sound like a fan.”

“You wish.” Her orbs gleam with mischief, and she sits a bit straighter to make a striking pose. “I wouldn’t mind learning some moves, though. I’d love to kick some ass. I bet I could take you, big man.”

Ryan chuckles under his breath, against his best judgement. It feels surreal to him, this girl. “You certainly have a unique way about yourself.” He states bluntly, raising his brows as he closes up the laptop and puts it on the small table to their side. “Don’t really look like someone in Logistics.”

Randy nods, crossing her legs with a smug expression. “I didn’t get the memo before taking the job, I guess.”

“Right.”

“Oh, loosen up already.” She sits up and leans back on the couch, her attention going to the program running in the background for a second. “We’re gonna be here a long time, by the looks of it. Might as well hold hands and start singing Kumbaya.”

Jack shakes his head slightly, his tone growing more serious. “You need to focus on the mission, Johnson. This isn’t a game.”

“Sure thing, dad”, she snickers, running a hand through her short hair idly. “You talk like it’s your head those fuckers want on a plate.”

“It is too, actually.” Ryan frowns. That’s the attitude he doesn’t like. “I suggest you get your head out of your ass as soon as possible. Enough people have died because of you.”

Although his words sting, Randy keeps a lighthearted mood. “So is that why you’re behaving like an asshole ever since we landed, you’re worried about yourself?”, she wiggles her brows, fixing a few blonde strands softly and clicking her tongue. “And here I thought you just didn’t like me.”

“I don’t have time for this”, Jack mutters to himself and leaves, closing the door to his room quietly.

Johnson only hummed along, watching as the winner of the episode celebrated on the screen. She knew Ryan was doing nothing but his duty protecting her, of course, yet it felt strangely disappointing that he, of all people, seemed to judge her so much for her actions up until that point. Randy went behind her superiors’ backs to scavenge the information that now threatened her own safety, sure, but how many times had he done the same thing again? Either way, arguing with the guy about it was just showing she cared for his opinion—which she didn’t, for the record. That cable just sucked and she was bored as hell. With a heavy sigh, the girl stood up to turn off the TV when a sound made her ears prick up. She frowned, inspecting the empty space. Something fell on the floor with a loud thud in the other room and Randy took a step back.

“Jack?”, she calls, getting no reply.

Her feet moved toward his door and it crashed right before her eyes, causing her to step away in reflex as two bloody men were thrown on the ground with it. With no time to process what was happening, Ryan took her by the arm and dragged her out of the apartment with no delicacy whatsoever. They ran down the stairs while he cocked his gun and whispered something unintelligible. She grabbed his forearm when another two hooded figures started closing in on them. Jack quickly got rid of the attackers and gave Randy a look before pulling her out of the building and into a car.

“Drive.” He commands, keeping his eyes behind at anyone following their vehicle.

She obeys without a second thought, stepping on the accelerator with all her might. Johnson grips the wheel tightly as she mouths, in a shaky breath, “what the fuck is going on, Jack? Talk to me.”

Ryan braces himself as they take a harsh turn, blood dripping from his eyebrow. “They found us again.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Randy gasps when a pickup appears out of nowhere, shooting at them. She makes a u-turn and steps on the pedal, watching from the rear mirror. “How the hell did that happen?”

“I don’t know, just drive!” Jack rolls down his window and fires all his rounds at the vehicle still on their tail. He goes back to his seat and reloads his pistol, looking straight ahead. “We gotta get to the Embassy.”

“Got it.”

♡♡♡

“I see.” Jim sighs through the phone call. “I still have some business here in Moscow, but I’ll be in Prague as soon as I can.”

Jack doesn’t like the sound of it at all. He keeps track of Randy moving around in the background. “Copy.”

The ride to the Embassy was messy, but they made it in one piece. Well, Ryan did. After settling in the nice hotel the Ambassador offered them in another city nearby Prague—as to not draw any more attention to them, in his own words—, now with heavy security outside, Johnson winced when trying to change. She lifted her shirt and only then saw the ugly bruise on her abdomen, her skin sliced open and gushing blood. It was a bullet graze and albeit it wasn’t serious, the thing still hurt like a bitch. As the girl hissed and took a seat on the bed, Jack stopped in his tracks and crouched down before her. He gauged her injury with a trained eye, his lips curling in thought.

“Remorse?” Randy laughs deeply, tilting her head. “Don’t worry, I don’t hold grudges.” She sighs and looks at him seriously, like she hadn’t been until now. “How the hell did they find us this time, Jack? This stinks. No one knew about that hideout except you, me and Greer.”

His voice drops to a lower register as he takes her arm and brings it around his shoulders to lay her down, “I’m working on it. Right now we need to focus on getting you patched up.” Jack pulls her body close to his and fluffs the pillows, making her comfortable. He tries to ignore the way her hair tickles his chin.

Johnson chews the inside of her cheek, but accepts the help. “I’m okay, it’s just a graze.” She gulps and scratches her eyelids, taking a deep breath and glancing up at the ceiling. “That pickup didn’t look cheap. These people have some serious connections here. We have to get to the bottom of this.”

“We will”, Ryan says with resolve, nodding once. He scans the room in search of a med-kit and Randy points to the bathroom.

While Jack leaves for a moment, Johnson moves a little and pouts when the pain comes back. He catches her in the act and she chuckles, a little embarrassed, “so much for spy training, huh?”

Rummaging through the kit, he hums, “if it was easy, everyone would do it.” In the midst of pulling out the antiseptic and the gauze roll, he steals a quick peek at her.

Randy only grunts in response, her lips pursed. “Greer’s gonna get our asses for this. He doesn’t even know we left Prague in the first place.”

Jack doesn’t reply immediately. He’s finally found the right size gauze roll and puts it aside. His orbs roam her up and down, studying her exposed skin. He whispers, almost talking to himself, “he’ll get over it.”

“You know, I’m sorry about earlier”, her gaze has an amused gleam, but seems sincere. “I have been a little more annoying than normal, I’m aware. I’m sure by now you noticed why I’m not so popular among my peers in the agency, especially not after this… mess.” She looks down.

“You make it difficult for them because you can afford it”, he considers, cleaning her wound delicately. Taking note of her surprised reaction, he adds with a smirk, “I read your file. You’re not the only one who did the homework.”

After a moment of silence, she speaks up again, solemnly, “when we’re done with this, I’d like to make it up to you.” Randy sits up against the headboard with his help, now grinning, “how does pizza sound?”

His chest feels funny as Jack catches the look on her face. The offer sounds genuine and he smiles. “I’d love that. Your call on toppings.” When her bandage is finished, he puts the med-kit away in the bathroom cabinets.

“That’s right, I make all the decisions”, Johnson pushes his shoulder lightly as he sits back down, making him raise his brows but laugh along. “You learn fast. I can see why they talk so much about the analyst down the hallways, now.”

“I make them talk, huh?” Ryan tries to play it off with a soft chuckle, yet the blush on his cheeks is obvious. He leans in closer to take the phone on the bed, and with their faces only inches apart, his body can’t help but linger in that position. Suddenly the atmosphere tingles with tension and his breath hitches ever so slightly. Her eyes are breathtaking.

“Your humble act doesn’t work on me”, her voice is but a whisper, the corner of her lip lifting up ghostly. “Jim gave me the rundown on you before I came here, you know? He told me not to inflate your massive ego.”

He beams, his look dropping to her mouth, “that sounds like jealousy.”

Randy laughs and now can’t hide her own bashfulness. She reaches for the bedside table and puts on her round sunglasses, looking away from him in a not so subtle attempt at denying his advances. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jack.” The girl sighs heavily, unable to stare back at him for now.

Her words were clear enough. It was a bad idea, indeed. And in spite of being visibly disappointed, his facial expression stayed blank as his phone started ringing again. It was probably Jim. He thanked the heavens in silence for that call to get him out of that situation. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment and Ryan moved away from her, pressing the answer button as he got up and left for the other room. He grabbed his jacket over the chair as he went, glancing back at Johnson before she was completely out of vision. There was a flicker of curiosity in her emerald orbs whilst Jack closed the door.

Randy went to sleep right away, in hopes to wash off the incident with Jack by rebooting her systems. Besides, she was very exhausted; so much so her bones felt like jelly under her skin. Turning on her side with all the care in the world, she shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Soon her body began to spasm and shake, sweat dripping from her forehead as she turned on the bed and hissed when her wound stung. She sat back up with a quiet gasp. The war nightmares were a normal thing to occur, but had been more frequent from the moment she landed in Prague.

On the other side of the wall, Jack leaned back in a chair as he flipped through a small manila folder. His attention was glued to the paper, but his mind wondered. The sound of Randy tossing and turning on the mattress reached him and he tensed up, closing his eyes briefly as if to block out the sounds. He stayed like this for several moments before finally forcing himself to face reality. They had been running from terrorists when they should be the ones trying to catch them, and that didn’t sit right with him. Hiding wasn’t helping them in any way, out of maybe buying some time to rethink their strategy. And with Johnson hurt, Jack saw no other option but to push things forward on his own. He called Mike November the next minute, urging him to come to the Czech Republic tomorrow. They were gonna need all the help they could get.

The hours dragged on and his thoughts kept him awake. There was no way he could sleep while Randy was alone in the other room, wounded. She wasn’t a field operative, and that meant her training would only help her so much away from him. The girl barely survived the last encounter with their attackers, all because she had been lucky enough not to be in the room they invaded first. He tried to shake off the feeling of guilt over her injury to no avail. It wasn’t serious, however it could’ve been, and the mission would’ve been compromised then. Ryan gave up on the file and sat it aside.

Regardless of not being able to figure out Randy entirely just yet, John realised he had been cultivating a fondness for her over the past events. For someone who never used a gun in her life, except maybe for her training days, Johnson kept calm and helped with what she could, no questions asked. Not everyone has that kind of self control in the face of danger and he admired her for it. She even reminded Jack of himself, somewhat, back when he was a rookie—even though he wasn’t as annoying, surely. Either way, the blonde had a grace about her. Perhaps it was that nearly youthful spirit, the playfulness even in the blink of imminent disaster. He still found it hard to believe she had made her way into the CIA without losing most of her spark by now.

His look automatically dropped to Randy’s file, right under the mission’s. He scanned through some of the notes and reports he had been doing up until now. Johnson had been with the agency for just over four years, still her work ethic was impressive, at the very least. The only negative points were personal complaints from her previous office colleagues, most of them depicting her as a “stubborn, impulsive and rebellious, but effective agent”. He chuckled under his breath. That sounds about right.

Jack flipped through more pages, going over her skills: communication, adaptability and problem solving were top on the list. His eyes glossed over the next sheet: relationships, but he quickly stopped himself and closed the envelope. He’s already overstepped as it is. Ryan put down the file and let out a frustrated sigh. Thinking back on the days before the mission, he remembered Jim’s words.

“She’s a tough cookie, but you’ll get used to it.” Greer swirls his glass of Merlot casually. “I know how it looks and trust me, I’m one of the people who doubted her from the beginning, until it turned out her intel was solid. I don’t care how she got it or why, just as long as we catch that son of a bitch Jones.”

Jack could see the concerned look on Jim’s face as he delivered his briefing. He didn’t appear so confident in the girl’s abilities as he tried to come across. And while it didn’t bother Ryan perse, he had this unshakeable gut feeling that there was a lot more to Randy than what you can see at first glance. Perhaps even more so than she let Jim himself know.

“Copy.” That’s what he said back then, nodding and staring at the table.

“And don’t even think about it”, were his boss’ last remarks as he gulped down his wine in one go. “Randy’s not Cathy, Jack. You’re there to protect her and the information she holds before Jones can get to her.” His voice sounds tight, but not really threatening. Greer’s always been a little too overprotective of the rookies. “No fooling around.”

“Jack”, Randy calls huskily. “I’m bleeding.” She complains, yawning softly. Johnson stares at the dark room and sighs, doing her best to wake up fully. “Jack.”

His eyes fixated on Randy’s picture when he heard her voice coming from her bedroom. He stood up and opened the door, flicking on the light and making his way to her bed. Her wound oozed blood under her shirt, soaking the fabric in red as it dripped down onto the mattress and he shook his head, looking at all the work he had put on the bandages now gone.

“What the hell did you do, Johnson?”, he grumbles, running for the bathroom to take the med-kit.

“I moved”, she shrugs and tries out a playful smile, but grimaces when a sharp sting hits her like a brick. “Just… hand me the gauze and I’ll clean it up myself.” She concludes, noticing he isn’t pleased.

Jack comes back with the kit and narrows his eyes, his features remaining stoic, “sit down and put pressure on it.” He grabs her wrist to help her up, moving her back to the headboard. His lips purse as he inspects the red liquid streaming from her side. “It looks even worse than before, Jesus.”

“Sorry”, she frowns and looks away, feeling guilty for making him do this again. “I really can do it, you know? I’m not a baby.”

“Really? You’re not doing such a great job at convincing me otherwise”, he states softly, his initial anger dissipating to give room for worry as he treats her injury. She doesn’t respond, adjusting herself on the pillows. “Stay still.”

Randy sighs. “I wanna talk to Greer.”

“What for? He says he’s coming.” Jack wraps the gauze around her abdomen, holding the roll package between his teeth. “There’s nothing we can do for now. Jones is onto us. We have to be extra careful.”

“Yeah, that’s not really my style”, she huffs, visibly bothered by his decision making without consulting her. “I’m calling my contact in Roztoky. He can help us move around the city without worrying so much.”

“Your contact”, Ryan sounds unimpressed, finishing off the new bandage. He looks down at his lap for a split second, then turns his gaze back to Randy. “Don’t you think it’s time you caught me up on all of this?”

“I told you everything.”

“Did you, now?” Randy glares and he stares right on, scowling himself. “All you have done so far is get on my nerves and not cooperate with the mission at hand.”

“I don’t cooperate with you bossing me around, that’s very different”, Johnson blurts out in a single breath, looking upset. “I might not be the big shot you are in the agency, but I have a right to know where we stand because it concerns my safety too. I don’t care if I’m fucking Logistics.”

Jack still glowers at the girl, but eventually softens his features. She’s got a point. “Fine. I called a friend just now. He’ll help.”

“Okay.” It’s all she says, and anticipating the end of the conversation, Jack moves to leave. Her hand touches his arm faintly before he does, “thanks.”

Nodding, he steps away and closes the door.

♡♡♡

When Jim told Randy to get on the next plane to Prague only days ago, something inside of her shifted. So far she had been carrying this intuitive sensation that no matter what she did, the guys higher up would never take her warnings into consideration. And then, just as Johnson gave up and decided to do things on her own, Jones bombed a US Embassy in Europe, and announced he would keep on doing it until he was either killed or caught. Overnight, all the letters the girl sent the director of the CIA were answered and in less than a week, they stationed her and Jack in Prague.

“Wait for further instructions. As of now, Dr. Jack Ryan will be assisting you”, was the last email Greer typed. And with that, Johnson flew with the so-called doctor to Europe. She knew all about Jack’s successful streak with Suleiman, then Venezuela and Moscow, of course. The tales of “the analyst” often made her chuckle whilst spooning her salad, since people were unable to hide their admiration—and sometimes, even envy—for Ryan as they shared his stories on lunch break. Nothing much happened on Logistics, so that had been their entertainment for a long time. Until things became erratic with the Prague bombings, that is.

Looking back now, everything happened so quickly. Randy didn’t have a chance to take it all in. The rush was similar to her days in the army, when she had to get moving around with no time to think or feel. There was the goal and the path she’d be taking towards it, nothing else. She saw the same mindset in Ryan right away, even if their approach was fundamentally different. The blonde reckoned the Marine Corps could be stricter and, as a result, more demanding than military service. That is also why, although not hitting it off well from the beginning, she tried her best to remain friendly with him—which could include being annoying every now and then, sure, but that’s beside the point. They both possessed life experiences not too far apart that deeply shaped them into who they were today, for better or for worse, and that meant something. Jack was her.

Only grumpier and square.

Staring back at the table, Randy resumed eating her meal. Pancakes were her favourite dish, no matter where she was. And again, she felt lucky enough that Jack’s remorse made him go out of his way to try and fetch her some from the downstairs cafeteria. His friend Mike was funny, funnier than Ryan—not that it was hard—and she had a great time while they chatted over a nice American breakfast in Central Bohemian, Czech Republic. It almost felt as though they weren’t being chased down by assassins, and she hadn’t nearly been hospitalised for an infection in her bullet graze only the night before.

“So?” Randy smiles brightly at Mike, urging him to speak after she briefed him on the situation. Jack had been quiet until now, because he was boring, so she took it upon herself to catch Mike up on the whole deal. If his laughter at her stupid jokes was anything to go by, she’d take a hunch and say they built a strong bond already. If only things could work like that with Ryan. “You think you can help us, Mikey?”

Michael can’t help but snort, oscillating his eyes between Johnson and Jack, who’s still eyeing his empty plate in thought, “where did you find her again?”

“Don’t ask”, Ryan finally sighs and Randy shrugs, eating her pancakes happily. He looks at November seriously. “I’m gonna need you to call your guy. We have to be in the same place as Jones, hit him when he doesn’t expect it. We’re running out of time.”

“I’m on it”, Mike nods, then glances at the girl with a grin. “How about you, sweetheart? Ready for some grown up action?”

Jack rolls his eyes at this, but Randy laughs out loud. She’s yet to get used to being treated like a damsel in distress. “Hey, I can throw a punch! Don’t let Jack poison your mind. He’s just butthurt that I got intel working in Logistics that he couldn’t as a field agent.”

“Ouch. That hurt even me.” He snickers and Ryan stands up, putting his gun inside his pants. Mike follows suit. “Just right down to business, huh?”

“I told you, we don’t have time”, Jack takes a look at Randy, who’s watching them with her chin on her hand, smiling. He clears his throat and touches her shoulder lightly, “we’ll be back before dark. Try not to hurt yourself while I’m away.”

They hadn’t mentioned the little incident last night, but when his touch found her skin, Johnson’s mind made its way back to his closeness hours prior. How he ogled her lips with no shame whatsoever, and how eager he seemed for breaking the rules for her, so to speak. It was a nice change in pace for the Jack she had come to see around that period. It also took her an enormous amount of self-control not to jump on him right then and there, however there were more important things at play. If only she wasn’t such a professional.

Randy renders a hand salute, mockingly. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Mike smiles at Ryan. “I like her.”

As they left, Johnson sighed and stood up, going for the burner Mike brought with him so they could communicate. She called her boss in Maryland and gave him a summary of the mission, explaining Jack’s plan thoroughly. They found a way into Jones’ charity event tomorrow, courtesy of Mike’s contact. If everything went well today, she would be face to face with her target in just a few hours. Her orders were loud and clear: shoot to kill. Placing the device down, the blonde took a deep breath, looking out the window at the clean, welcoming landscape of Horoměřice.

She was never a fan of big cities, despite being born in Los Angeles. The nice and quiet suited her better, so leaving Prague, notwithstanding she wished for better circumstances, was actually a relief. Away from the hustle of the capital, she could think more clearly. And the thought of coming back here after the operation made her happy. The people were nice and very comprehending of her ignorance of their culture—albeit she did speak a little Czech, but had to pretend not to, for the sake of her cover. Ryan still had to think she was the sweet and rebellious rookie; at least until she got the job done.

A few blocks away, contemplating the clear, blue sky also, Jack caught himself appreciating the view for longer than he intended. The small things were ever the anchor he needed to keep moving forward, especially in this line of work. Whenever he was on a mission, time went by in a rush, and the only way to alleviate that feeling was to focus on the here and now. Nature could calm him down like nothing else, but as he watched the trees moving along with the wind, the green of the leaves slowly merged into emerald eyes he now came to know too well. Putting his hands in his front pockets, he took a peek back at the old building behind him and Mike walked out of it.

“Please, tell me you got us in.” Jack practically begs, watching him come down the stairs. He had been talking to his guy for over fifteen minutes while Ryan waited outside.

“Did I ever let you down?” He grins, showing his phone with a party invitation on the screen.

“Don’t make me say it”, Jack beams and nods, checking the time before heading to the car with November right behind. As they get in, he turns on the engine. “Jim’s getting here soon, but I might not catch him. You stay here and brief him on the plan. I can hold my own with Johnson.”

“Just like the old days, eh?” Mike puts on his belt. “The band’s back together.”

“With a new formation, but yeah”, he mutters, driving back to the hotel.

“Oh, tell me about it”, Jack wants to roll his eyes at the teasing on Michael’s voice again, but doesn’t. “Actually, you don’t even have to. It’s clear you guys are already at it.”

“Stop talking”, Ryan takes a turn, stepping on the pedal. “She’s too much. You might have noticed.”

“Sounds like your type”, Mike snickers, gaining a wry look from Jack. He shrugs, measuring up the hotel as they arrive. “But I’m sure Jim wouldn’t approve. He never does.”

“I don’t care”, Jack says somewhat defensively, getting out of the vehicle with November. They make their way to the elevator and he presses his floor. “I’m not thinking about that.”

“All these years and you still think you can lie to me, Jack”, Mike positions his hands in front of his body with a smirk, the doors closing as they’re going up. “She’s into you, though. I could feel the tension.”

Jack scoffs in disbelief at his words, his face heating up. “Please, stop talking.”

“You know, it’s none of my business…”

Jack nods impatiently, not looking at him. “It isn’t.”

“But you should go for it. Friendly advice”, Mike gives him a look before they head towards the room. They stop in front of the wooden door as he finishes, “you can thank me later.”

Ryan displayed another eye roll at Michael and got inside, finding nothing but an empty and unmade bed. He stopped in his tracks and pushed Mike down when someone stepped out of the bathroom with a machine gun. They grabbed their guns simultaneously, taking cover behind a small couch next to the door. Before either of them had a chance to shoot, the gunfire suddenly ceased and the sound of a body hitting the floor could be heard in its place. Jack frowned and stood back up swiftly with November, pointing the pistol now at Randy, who stared at them with a desolate look. Her clothes were bloody and her green orbs filled with tears.

He runs in her direction and takes the girl in his arms, whispering, “what happened?”

Johnson sobs and hides herself into his chest, clinging to him for dear life. “He said he was room service… I just opened the door and…” She gulps, crying copiously.

Jack looks at Mike approaching them, still holding her firmly. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

The security guards supposed to protect them were nowhere to be seen, and Ryan made the connection quickly; they must have been paid off, just like the ones in Prague. He swore quietly, rocking Randy’s body to try and calm her down. She was shaking like a leaf, but appeared not to be hurt. The crushing weight of guilt hit him once more as he shut his eyes tightly. He shouldn’t have left her alone again. Brushing her cheeks, he cupped her face and wiped off her tears, causing her to smile. She squeezed his hands, as if to confirm she was really okay, and his heart skipped a beat. But as soon as their foreheads touched, the moment was interrupted by November.

“I thought you were a rookie.” Mike hums in confusion, staring at the dead body in front of them while checking his vitals. The guy had a broken neck and arm. He adds, his brows furrowed in her direction, “where did a rookie learn how to kill a guy with one move like that?”

Randy freezes in Jack’s arms and he feels it instantly. He studies the cadaver for a second before turning to stare back at her. He looks lost at first, but the mere prospect of all his suspicions being true causes him to take a step back. He inquires, demanding an explanation, “Johnson?”

She stands there paralyzed, and eventually raises her hands slowly, as a sign of surrender. Ryan points his gun at her again in the blink of an eye and her breath hitches. “Jack, please…”

“Who are you?” Mike chimes in, as his friend’s too shaken up to say anything. His gaze is hard and menacing, nothing like the lighthearted gleam of this morning.

Johnson closes her eyes, shaking her head. “Jack…”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Jack snaps, pressing the barrel of the pistol to her forehead, his hazel orbs now glistening with tears.

Johnson’s desperate face turned into a cold one all of a sudden and she disarmed him easily, pointing Ryan’s glock right back at him. He looked at the girl shocked and hurt, but lifted his arms up in reflex. They stayed in that position until Randy sighed when Mike aimed his own weapon at her. She dropped the firearm and unloaded it masterfully, throwing the rounds on the ground whilst glaring at Jack.

“I’m not your enemy.” She spits, her voice strained with anger. With that, Johnson storms off.

November still tries to go after her and Ryan steps in front of him, holding his shoulders. “Let her go. We got a job to do.”

Mike watches as she gets into the elevator down the hallway and snorts, “well, you did say she was too much.”

♡♡♡

Jack walked into the event with grace, making the bar his first stop. Mike kept humming a song in his earpiece, but it didn’t bother him as it should, since his mind was elsewhere; lost in blonde locks and lying green eyes. He had no idea where Randy had gone to, and aside from not wanting to think about it now, his bitter side also wouldn’t allow him to care as he did before. She wasn’t some helpless chick doing a brave thing for her principles, after all, like he initially thought. Johnson had her own interests and her own set of skills—which he obviously didn’t know anything about—to achieve them. She’d be fine without him.

“Here he comes”, Ryan mumbles as Jones appears in the VIP section upstairs, surrounded by security and other people he assumed were his associates. He drinks his glass of whisky in one go and keeps his eyes on his target from afar, inspecting the perimeter stealthily. “Please, tell me Jim’s there. We’ll be needing the cavalry soon.”

Instead of Mike’s reply, a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in a few days reaches his ear and Jack tenses up. “Where’s Johnson?” It’s Greer’s first question. No greeting, no nothing. He sighs, trying to think of an excuse not to talk about this now, but his boss is insistent. “You might wanna tell me if you want your cavalry right away.”

“She’s gone”, Ryan growls, not sounding as casual as he would’ve liked to. He strolls towards a group of women and smiles charmingly at them, blending in. They quickly make a gesture for him to come closer and he obliges, muttering on his way, “she left yesterday.”

There is a pause, then Greer mouths, “what happened?”

“She’s NSA”, he says amidst another deep sigh, forcing a grin when one of the girls pulls him to dance.

Jim didn’t respond and Jack went along with the brunette, always maintaining Jones in his rearview. He wasn’t aware if Greer was too surprised to say something or just didn’t care—seeing as he had been the first one to tell him Randy was only as important as the information she held, anyway. As long as she kept feeding them her intel, whatever happened to her afterwards was irrelevant to the agency. As far as anyone knew, an employee from Logistics should’ve never been on the field with them in the first place. And even in the face of Johnson secretly working for another organ entirely, which was the case, whilst representing a conflict of interests, Ryan reckoned she had been useful enough. At the end of the day, that’s all that mattered. Maybe she’d try to stop him from getting Jones just to put the credit on the National Security Agency’s office, but they would still get Jones. She’d serve her purpose, either way.

As soon as Randy left the hotel, Jack dialled up a nerdy kid in Langley, Josh, who happened to be a self-proclaimed fan of his and asked for a small favour. All the facts he had about Johnson was the Californian accent—unless she was that good at her job, going as far as creating such a round persona for her cover—and a nearly faded tattoo she had on her lower abdomen: 345-27-720. Ryan saw it for the first time when treating her wound, but thought nothing of it. Everything about her appeared so innocent, it went unnoticed. Now, remembering the way she aimed his own weapon at him without hesitation, he felt a bit proud of his photographic memory.

It was a long shot, still he tried. And the results of the background check didn’t disappoint as they came just minutes before he had to leave for the party. According to California’s military records, the social security number belonged to a Miranda J. Brooks; white, American born, 26 years old, Second Lieutenant with a bachelor’s degree in Strategic Intelligence. The only catch was: Brooks was officially dead for over six years now. The death certificate only mentioned she was killed in combat somewhere in Afghanistan. She had no close family except her grandmother, Mary Brooks, who lived alone in Arizona. And the only thing he could register listening to Josh vomit all of that on the phone was how well she pretended to be such a clueless, defenceless girl while having this background. It only made his admiration for her stronger. And Jack hated it.

He somehow learned about that NSA program a few years back, but didn’t dig deeper on the matter. It wasn’t in their policy to have field agents capacitated in combat—which had been the reason why people in there butt heads with CIA operatives in the past, many a time. So, they allegedly started recruiting deserters and otherwise discharged soldiers to power their own task force, an effort not to be so dependent on the FBI or the State Department anymore. And while Ryan wasn’t sure if it was even a legal practice, he wasn’t a lawyer, therefore that part didn’t concern him. What he couldn’t figure out was why Brooks would fake her own death for this, or have her death faked by the agency itself. Besides, there was no record of a discharge anywhere. It didn’t add up and as soon as Jones was out of the picture, Jack would go looking for answers.

“Wanna go upstairs?” The woman dancing with him grins drunkenly, grabbing back his attention.

Ryan wrinkles his nose involuntarily when the smell of alcohol hits his face and pulls away politely, faking an apologetic expression. “I’m taken, sorry.”

The woman huffed and pushed him, stumbling back to her friends. Jack watched in silence and frowned as his eyes caught a glimpse of Jones disappearing through a hallway with his men. He warned Mike of his position and followed them suit, the adrenaline already pumping into his veins when he came up the set of stairs and stepped into a quieter area. Ryan took out his gun and pointed it to the ground, sneaking after the terrorist from a safe distance. Hiding behind a wall, he checked his rounds and looked ahead, running back the strategy in his mind.

“Nice suit”, a smooth tone startles him and he holds the pistol at the direction of the sound, gulping faintly when his gaze meets Randy’s—or rather, Miranda’s.

“What are you doing here?” He lowers his weapon, dragging her behind the wall with him. She’s wearing her usual clothes, and he almost wants to scold her for not even trying to act the part now. When she only smirks in response, Jack tightens his grip around her arm. “Stop playing games, Brooks. I already know everything.”

“You’re so predictable”, she chuckles and harshly shrugs him off, albeit her beam stays. Randy looks up, pretending to be in thought, “although, I didn’t think you would let me go so easily. I thought you’d fight for us, Jackie.” She says dramatically, then laughs.

Ryan’s scowl grows deeper, and he snarls, “Look, I don’t know what your angle is, but if you fuck this up, I’m coming after you next. I don’t care who you work for.” He holds her wrist forcefully and she can’t contain her own glower, trying to shake him off again, this time unsuccessfully. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit.”

“Have you, now?” Johnson hisses and lifts her chin defiantly, his hot breath reaching her cheeks as his nostrils expand in pure rage. “If you were being honest, you’d have reported me to your superiors last night. You didn’t.”

“I have more important things to do”, he grits his teeth when she raises a brow, clearly not believing a word he says. “Now tell me what you’re doing here. I’m not gonna ask again.”

“I told you, I’m not your enemy”, Randy takes a deep breath, her features finally softening. Jack’s grip is looser now, but he keeps glaring. She sighs and tilts her head, cooing, “I know you’re mad at me for lying to you, Jack, but this is my job. You of all people should understand.”

The worst part was he did. Jack saw her and felt like staring into a goddamn mirror every time. He truly, genuinely saw her—no matter who the fuck she even was at that moment—and his body acted on its own as he pulled her by the collar of her shirt and devoured her mouth mercilessly. Ryan hadn’t a clue who he was kissing right now, the rebellious rookie or the dead soldier; all he knew was those were the smoothest lips he ever tasted, and he wasn’t letting go just yet. His tongue made its way between her teeth and he heard a gasp before Johnson pushed him against the wall and pressed herself on him, unashamed of who could see them.

“Jack, focus.”

Jack ignored Mike as his back hit the cold concrete with a quiet thud. His deep groan seemed to only fuel Randy’s desire and she licked his bottom lip, now guiding the kiss. He panted when her skilful hands dropped to his pants and in a sudden glimpse of clarity, Ryan grabbed her wrists to stop her, but with no brute force this time. She pulled away from the kiss to give him a playful look, her chin completely red with lipstick as she tried to catch her breath, and he wiped his own face unconsciously. They both stared at each other for two seconds before bursting out laughing. He placed his free palm on her hip, bringing her body flush to his again.

“Jack?”

November’s voice sounds like white noise as Johnson hums smugly, “okay, big man.” Jack’s flustered features cause her to giggle and she opens her mouth to speak again, then shuts it at once when a few men carrying rifles appear in her vision, observing them from afar.

Ryan’s eyes follow hers and he tucks Randy behind him instinctively, turning off the safety on his glock. “If you have a gun on you, now’s the time to use it.”

“You don’t really think we can take them? We’re outnumbered, greatly”, she scoffs, doing her best to hide his weapon from the bodyguards’ view with her body. She presses herself against Jack and he offers her a puzzled look when her hands carefully put his pistol back into his pants. Johnson brushes her lips on his and he gladly accepts the caress, shivering from head to toe. She whispers, biting his bottom lip, “act drunk.”

“Pfft”, Jack wants to protest that poor excuse of a plan, but it’s too late as the men are now only a few feet away, watching not so subtly. He sighs and palms her butt without warning, getting into character, and fakes a loose smile. “How’s that?”

“Perfect”, she bends towards his touch, kissing him sloppily. Jack squeezes her ass cheek softly in reflex and a moan escapes her. “Jesus…”

“Jack, what the fuck are you doing?!”

Mike screaming in his piece brings him back to reality and he stares at the ceiling before eyeing her. “I don’t wanna spoil the mood”, Ryan gulps, still rubbing her waist slowly as he tries to get a hold of himself. He clears his throat, “but what’s the endgame here? Take out the voyeurs?”

Randy chuckles and holds his hand, taking him towards the empty hallway again, away from the party. Before they leave, she senses the men are following them. While they stumble side by side surrounded by red painted walls, she mumbles, “there’s a door to your right over there. This is where Jones makes his deals and he’s trying to close one right now with the Russians.”

“I thought you said he gave up on it”, Ryan trails off, maintaining her close to him by wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Because that’s what I heard, he changed his mind today”, she slows the pace, pushing him to the wall once again with a grin. “I bugged his office while you were away with Mike yesterday, forgot to tell ya.”

“How in the world…”

“And they almost caught me, that was the mess you found”, Randy continues and Jack’s mouth remains agape. She shrugs, pecking him casually, “you play a good drunk, by the way.”

“Were you gonna tell me any of this if we hadn’t figured it out on our own?”, his tone sounds defeated, almost like he’s still hurt. But should he be, really? She said it earlier; Ryan of all people couldn’t judge her for lying. “Would you trust me?”

“Well, I’m telling you now”, loosening up his tie, she puts it around her neck clumsily. “What do you think?”

He smiles. “I think I hate your games, but sometimes they’re fun”, he grabs her by the hair and brings her into another quick kiss.

A loud sound, similar to an explosion, came out of the main room and Randy gasped in surprise, dragging Jack away from all the rubble and the dust. She coughed while running through the wreckage with him, and Jack took it upon himself to protect her face, covering it with his hand. He tried calling for Mike, but he couldn’t hear the answer amidst all the screaming and chaos going on around them. Soon the first shots were fired and not knowing whether it was the police or the terrorists, he took the lead and pulled out his gun as he knocked down the door to Jones’ office, supposedly. They entered the room and were met with the man glowering, his bodyguards ready to open fire.

Ryan stays alert, aiming his pistol at him and muttering, “Mike, where the hell’s the cavalry?”

Michael snorts, seeming out of breath. “I think your NSA friend can answer that better than me.”

Jack frowns, shooting a look at Johnson. She appears calm, calmer than she should be in a situation like this. However, just as he’s going to question her about Mike’s affirmation, Randy takes out her gun at last, but doesn’t aim it at anyone. He furrows his brows, “care to fill me in here?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. Ryan”, Jones chimes in with a heavy accent, eyeing Randy for a moment, solemnly. “And nice to see you again, miss Johnson.”

“You know each other?” Jack blinks, holding his weapon tightly, his knuckles becoming white. He turns off his safety, now raising his voice, “someone better tell me what’s going on here or I’ll shoot, I swear to God.”

Jones made mention of speaking up again and a door behind him opened to reveal a tall blonde with two other men surrounding him. Randy knew that was her chance and took the shot without so much as a second thought, hitting the stranger on the forehead. Everyone stood shocked, except Jones. The terrorist’s guys yelled at Johnson to toss her firearm and with one hand gesture coming from him, they went silent. She eventually lowered her pistol and sighed, studying the pool of blood around Viktor’s bald head before she took a look at Jack, who seemed as confused as he had been the day prior.

Johnson approaches Jones and nods, her expression serious. “Thank you. You’re free to go now.”

Jack widens his eyes and quickly steps between them, still pointing his weapon at him. “What the hell are you doing, Randy?!”

“I’m sorry, Jack. That was the deal.” The girl hugs her own body and the Czech police finally appear, screaming at everyone to lower their guns. “I’m sorry”, Randy glances at him one last time with a hurt look before she leaves and Jones and his men are cuffed and taken away.

“Jack, are you okay?”

Staring at the dead body still on the ground, Ryan places his hands on his hips, in a pathetic attempt to process what just happened. He stands there for a few seconds, then turns around to step out of the building. “Please tell me she wasn’t in on it, Mike.” He begs in a murmur, measuring up the destruction caused by the explosion earlier. “And where’s Greer, too.”

“I’m right here, Jack.” Jim sighs on the other end. “Don’t worry, Johnson’s not compromised. She was just following her orders.”

“Which were?” He kicks off some dust, finding his tie under a broken block of concrete in the hallway. It must have fallen off Randy as they ran.

“Catching Viktor Vasiliev.” Jack walks among the damage with a sour face, closing his eyes when he finds the woman he danced with earlier that night. She’s dead. Greer adds, “he deals in chemical weapons and was the one behind the Prague bombings all along. Jones was her informant.”

“Catching?” Ryan deadpans. “She killed him, Greer.”

“Those were her orders…”

“You knew about all this.” Ryan reckons, with a more consternated tone as he cleans up the dust off his tie and gets out of the main room—or what’s left of it—, trying not to think of the medics tending to the dead bodies as he passes. “You knew it and you didn’t tell me.”

Jim grunts, “I only found out when I arrived here and the NSA director gave me a call explaining everything. You already had your plan, Jack, and I know you well enough to say with confidence that you would have gone with it anyway. No matter what I said.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at Greer’s words even though he can’t be seen. Reaching the sidewalk, Jack sees Randy is talking to a police officer from a distance. She’s laughing at something he’s saying while Ryan purses his lips, unable to take his eyes off her figure. “Now what?”

“Now we’re going back to Langley. Our job here’s done, we helped as we could with manpower, but the intel was solely NSA’s. It’s their case now.”

“It has always been.” There’s bitterness in his words, and his scowl is inevitable when he remembers everything. All the lies. “What about Jones?”

“He’s coming with us. He made a deal.”

Jack sighs, looking down at his shoes. “And Johnson?”

Jim pauses. Ryan watches as Randy disappears in a police car without looking back, and he can’t ignore the lump in his throat when the answer comes in his ear, “Johnson who?”

♡♡♡

Randy’s always been in love with Arizona. There was just something about the quietness of the desert, and the way the roads stretched endlessly when driving back home. She hadn’t seen her grandmother in such a long time. A real nice scolding would be the first thing waiting for her as soon as Johnson opened the door to her granny’s trailer, she just knew it; yet it only added to her anxiousness to finally seeing the iconic “welcome to Phoenix” sign on the side of the road.

Singing a tune along with the radio, she thought back to what she left behind in Europe a week ago. Deciding to quit had been a big step for her, but she was never happier to make a decision. She’s always hated jetlag, anyway. And whenever Johnson saw Jack again, if ever, she would just have to thank him for indirectly leading her to discover this. Turns out the adrenaline wasn’t doing it for her anymore. And albeit it was all she had known until that point in her life, maybe it’s time for a change. Prague taught her as much. Even through the moments of tension, somehow connecting to some ex-Marine’s need for the hustle of going after the bad guys made her notice that deep inside, she was tired of it herself. That didn’t mean switching to “normal”—hell no.

Quieter, mayhaps.

A deep sigh escaped her lips and she shook her head at no one in particular, rolling down her windows and smiling as the wind hit her face. Reciting the lyrics to the song a bit louder now, she turned the volume all the way up and stepped on the pedal, patting her door from the outside to follow the beat. Love’s never worked out for her even as Miranda Brooks back in the day. So there was no surprise on her part when the brief romantic getaway with Jack Ryan had a tragic ending—and by tragic, she meant not being physically able to say goodbye to him, face to face. “I hope you’ll understand someday”, was the email Randy sent, and off she went to the States, in a flight separate from his.

With Jones now in custody—his deal was merely to reduce his sentence, since he did actively help plan other bombings before deciding to do the right thing after Prague—, everything should be fine. Except nothing felt like it, not to Randy. Being jobless and alone was a new thing, so she reckoned it was just a matter of adjusting. Taking a peek at herself in the rearview mirror, the girl thought of changing her hair. The last time she’d been a brunette was prior to enlisting. Another deep sigh left her throat as she rolled the window back up and turned off the radio.

Who was she kidding?

No amount of pretending not to care would save her from feeling like the worst person in the world. The whole thing with Ryan was just too fucking much, funnily enough, even for Johnson. Which was beyond her in itself, because lying to people came easy for her, it had to, since it was what she did for a living. But reminiscing about the disappointment in his eyes when she killed Viktor in front of him made her stomach turn every time. How did she come to consider his opinion of her that much? Randy had no clue. Still, she stubbornly persisted in the idea that everything happened as it should have. She accomplished her mission and Jack accomplished his, too. She was well and breathing, after all. He did his job. And without being deceitful, unlike her.

“You bitch!” Granny exclaims as soon as she spots her granddaughter’s car on the road. She’s in front of her house, wiping her hands with a kitchen cloth as she comes down the little steps before Randy even pulls up.

Laughing out loud, Johnson gets out and runs toward her, squeezing the old woman in her arms. “Granny! Oh, God. How I missed you. You look so beautiful.”

“Liar!” She chuckles, but her eyes are filled with tears. Staring at the rusty pick-up truck behind them, Mary shakes her head in disapproval. “I can’t believe you’re still driving that piece of shit, Miranda. That’s why you never visit your grandmother anymore! You’re probably afraid it’s gonna explode on the way.”

“Shut up, she’s family”, Johnson giggles and kisses her white hair, still holding her close. The scent of home made her heart flutter in her chest. She teases, “c’mon, I’m hungry. You better have made me pancakes!”

“Oh, he did!” Mary hums happily, opening a grin from ear to ear, and Randy raises a brow in inquiry. She shrugs, walking to the trailer along Brooks. “Your friend. He said you were gonna meet him here.”

“My friend?” The girl frowns and touches the gun under her jacket automatically, but as soon as she takes it out, her alert eyes spot the so-called friend sitting on the little couch, sipping a coffee, and stops in her tracks. “Jack?” Johnson breathes out, astonished.

With a shaven face and a sweet smile, Ryan blinked slowly at her. Her knees suddenly went weak and she took a step back, trying to take in his presence. It hadn’t been so long since she last saw him, yet it felt like an eternity. He wore a baby blue shirt and some jeans, and her mind took note of how casual he looked out of his work persona. Her mouth stayed agape as she searched for the words to speak. They all ran out on her.

“You don’t look happy to see me”, Jack finally murmurs in amusement, causing Mary to exchange a knowing look with him as he stands up, putting his hands in his front pockets. “How are you, Randy?”

“I’m…” She trails off, even more baffled by his soft and amicable tone now. She really thought he hated her guts. “Jack, I…”

“She’s better now, dear, that’s for sure”, granny chimes in before she can finish, doing a thumbs up.

Randy’s cheeks go red and she widens her eyes. “Granny!”

“What? I’m old, but I notice these things, Miranda. You like the boy.” Mary smiles and now Jack’s the one blushing and laughing awkwardly. “And he likes you too, for that matter.” After giving Johnson another one of her teasing looks, she points outside and pats Ryan’s shoulder softly. “I’m gonna leave you two alone now. You go talk and make up, otherwise there’s no pancakes to nobody.”

Randy can’t hold back another laughter as her granny steps out of the trailer with the tray full of their breakfast. She’s really not kidding. Glancing at Jack again, he’s still slightly flustered, crossing his arms while raising a brow. Johnson squints, “what?”

“An email? Really?” He asks, his expression wry as he sits back down, resting his elbows on his knees. It’s almost comical how big he looks in that position, especially seated on her grandmother’s little couch. “A text would’ve been warmer.”

“I didn’t wanna hurt you again, Jackie”, even though she tries to make light of it, there’s a sincerity to her words that’s hard not to notice. Taking a seat beside him, Johnson leans back and sighs. “You know, I quit the agency.”

He figured as much, especially because Greer seemed a little sad when questioned about Randy while they had dinner last night. Ryan smirks, not wanting to miss the opportunity, “which one?”

Johnson snickers and nods, comprehensive of his sassiness. “Both, actually. I’m a civilian now.” Looking down at her boots, she bites her lips in thought.

His orbs fall to her lap, his voice going lower, “why?”

“I miss my granny”, Randy smiles and shrugs, tilting her head. He hums along and she comes a little closer, resting her chin on his shoulder. Jack sniggers, his hand flying to her knee in response. “How about you, why did you come here?”

Jack paused and his breath hitched. He should’ve seen the question coming, but somehow didn’t prepare for it. Why did he come, really? It was lost on him, if he was being honest. There were a lot of points left unexplained about her that still bugged him; like the illegal task force run by NSA, or even why Johnson was pronounced dead and given another identity when she hadn’t even been discharged. What did she do while working undercover for two national organs at the same time, exactly? What were her real motives, her ideals, her drives? Ryan knew this was his chance, perhaps the only once, to clear things up with Randy. However, with green orbs watching him expectantly, his common sense turned into goo.

“To say goodbye, properly.” Jack’s aware he sounds a lot huskier than necessary, closing his eyes when her face comes nearer. He stammers, gazing at her intensely, “you think I’m allowed that much?”

She clicks her tongue in jest, giving a head shake. “Jim’s not gonna like it.”

“Greer gave me the rundown on Randy Johnson.” The corner of his lip curls up as Jack goes in for a tender kiss. He whispers, pulling her into his arms, “he never said anything about Miranda Brooks.”

Randy’s grin got bigger as she let herself be held by him. Much was unsaid between them, but in her experience, there wasn’t a thing in this world that couldn’t get sorted out through a nice chat and some pancakes in sunny Arizona. Besides, who was to say the change she needed in her life wouldn’t be brought by Jack Ryan in his shining armour?

#self reblog

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a-boca-do-inferno · 3 months