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slutforsilverfoxes · 2 years

Note

can you do part 2 of the sierra six smut where they meet again?? I absolutely loved it !!!

A/N: Wild Child by the Black Keys is such a perfect outro for The Gray Man- I also think it’s perfect for describing Six & reader’s relationship. This fic admittedly wrote itself over the past couple of weeks, and it just kept getting longer and longer 🥲 I don’t know if I like how it progressed because I’ve finished bits and pieces of it at odd hours whilst in the hospital, but I hope y’all like it! It’s got a lil dash of every genre thrown in there (ya girl loves her flavor 👩🏾‍🍳) Also I apologize in advance if anything seems OOC for Court, I did my best but I’m still nervous about writing for him 🙈

Tags: @ejhpmarvelsimp

———

“Contact?”

“Negative,” you readjust the comm device in your ear and pull your lipstick out of your handbag, pursing your lips in the car’s rearview mirror to apply a shock of red. “Oasis is too smart for that. Just tailing for now.”

“Timeline?” your handler follows up bluntly, pulling an eye roll from you in retaliation.

“Can you speak in more than two syllables? You know, sometimes you’re the only person I speak to for weeks at a time.”

“Do you have an estimated timeline?”

You sigh, muttering out a, “Thank you,” for the technical adherence to your request before laying out the details of your proposed op. “…and that should give me the in to confirm that she’s distributing Rainbow,” you conclude. “So at least three weeks to make contact, get comfy, and catch her in the act.”

“Can we accelerate that to two weeks?”

“No,” you make a face in the mirror, grateful that the conversation is audio only. “I’m going to need a little more time to catch a soccer mom by day, cartel head by night.”

“Affirmative, Agent. Carmichael wants a status report in 72 hours.”

The line goes dead with a soft click as you mock your handler under your breath, “Carmichael wants a status report in 72 hours. Yeah? Well, Denny can suck my left tit, fucking-”

You continue grumbling as you climb out of the car and sling your purse over your shoulder before dropping your features into a bored expression and tucking a pair of stupidly expensive sunglasses into your hair- more of a statement piece than protective eyewear, really.

Snagging a shopping cart from just outside the entrance, you step into the grocery store and begin cruising down the aisles on the hunt for your target. You eventually find her by the fresh produce, judiciously sniffing limes in an apparent search for freshness. Your facial muscles twitch with the urge to frown at the odd display, but instead you suppress your natural inclination and force a smile as her gaze lifts to meet yours. She flashes her pearly whites in return, none the wiser, and you direct your eyes toward the aromatics. You don’t want her growing suspicious, and you’re fairly confident not even Oasis would have the balls to be openly dealing Rainbow in the produce section of the only grocery store in town.

She turns her way down an aisle and you toss some parsley and thyme into your cart with a shrug before easing into the parallel aisle, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips at the sight before you.

Who but Sierra fucking Six is standing in the middle of the bakery and breakfast section, arguing about the merits of chocolate versus fruit-flavored cereal with a teenage girl, a box of each dwarfed in his large hands. Having apparently relented to the young girl’s whims, he tosses both boxes in their cart before leaning against the handle as he plans out his next tactical move, easing a scrap of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. You can’t help but follow the movement of his nimble fingers as they search his pocket, marveling over the way the denim hugs his muscular legs and the curve of his ass. Letting your gaze travel back up, heat floods your cheeks at the way his t-shirt stretches over his taut muscles, the fabric looking almost comical, the seams practically begging to be let out as they suffocate on his biceps. He smooths a hand over his goatee as he laughs at something the teen said, the movement drawing your eyes further upward. His honey-blonde hair has grown out a bit since you last saw him, still neatly trimmed but now with a few loose strands falling across his forehead. Despite physically looking the same, there’s a different air to Six. He seems almost… comfortable.

Domesticity suits him well (and somehow manages to make him even more attractive), and you find your thoughts wandering to his role in this girl’s life. Is he a single dad? Uncle? Is she his latest protective assignment?

The duo disappears in the blink of an eye and you half-wonder if your target slipped some of her product into the veggie sprinklers causing you to hallucinate. There’s no way you’re seeing Six stateside in a grocery store in the middle of Nowhere, USA after spending eight months traipsing across Europe.

Clearing your thoughts with a slight shake of your head, you catch up to your target and continue following her around the store, absentmindedly tossing grocery items into your cart and stopping to peruse the wine rack as she does the same.

An alluring mix of cologne and distinct masculine musk wafts over you sending your sympathetic nervous system into overdrive, your heart thudding against your ribcage.

Evidently you hadn’t been drugged.

“That white pairs great with a good branzino,” an all too familiar silky voice drapes languidly across your body causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin.

Without looking up, you retort, “Thanks for the advice, but I won’t be enjoying it. It’s for my boss.”

“Does your boss have a Prada purse,” he murmurs by your ear, his sheer proximity making you shiver, “because she’s looking this way.”

“I’m sure everything in this town with a pulse is looking this way,” you shoot back, still unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Then let’s give them something to look at.” You register the teasing lilt to his voice moments before his fingers are tucking under your chin, tilting your head up to press his supple lips against your own.

The bottle of wine remains in your hand as you throw your arms around his neck in an attempt to get as close as physically possible, your eyelids fluttering closed as memories of your night together pervade your senses.

“Y/N,” he growled softly, deep voice bringing you out of your reverie. You picked your head up to find his gaze locked on yours, the sight of his lust blown pupils and reddened lips causing your breath to come out in sharp pants. “Eyes on me.”

And then his mouth was on you, consuming you from the inside out and trapping you in a world of him until the only discernible word falling from your lips was his name.

“Nice to see you again, old timer,” you whisper against his lips, pulling back with a smile, finally opening your eyes and instantly drowning in a sea of blue.

“Told you I’d find you, kid,” a triumphant smirk has the audacity to grace his beautiful mouth.

“Uh no,” you hold up a finger in contradiction, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Oasis is still in sight, “technically I found you.”

“But were you looking for me?”

“Shut up,” you place your hand against his chest and shove, only succeeding in moving him a few inches but enough to ease the wine bottle into your cart. The man is more tree than human and the unbidden image of you climbing his body flashes through your mind.

“So,” he breaks you out of your lustful thoughts, leaning against your cart handle and offering you the perfect window to track your target as you talk- she’s suddenly very interested in the white wine, her eyes darting over to the two of you every so often- “what’s your boss got you up to these days?”

“Mergers and acquisitions, the usual,” you shrug easily. Murders and asset retrieval.

“New business in town?” He cocks an eyebrow out of curiosity, fingers slipping into the front pocket of his jeans before returning triumphantly with a piece of gum.

Your mouth goes dry as he wets his lips before snagging the rectangle between his teeth, torturously pulling the pink gum into his mouth bit by bit. “A colorful one,” you rasp out, subtly keying him in to your operation surrounding the quiet expansion of Rainbow.

He nods in acknowledgment, chewing thoughtfully. “So I’ll be seeing you around.” He presses a kiss to your lips, turns on his heel, and disappears in a wave of woodsy cologne, the faint taste of watermelon gum, and a parting wink thrown over his shoulder.

———

Days later you’re parked in the school carpool lane gathering intel on Oasis and her teenagers, your sedan four vehicles behind her massive SUV. You let your head rest against the cracked driver-side window as your eyes scan the parents and guardians milling about. Your eyes continue cataloguing faces as your brain checks out, thoughts drifting to your friendly neighborhood blonde-haired, blue-eyed, sinfully-tongued former partner in crime. You haven’t seen him since that day in the grocery store, and even though you’re grateful that he hasn’t been around to distract you, you can’t help but expect him to be walking along every corner you round. Although, truth be told, you’d be very surprised to see Six at the establishments that Oasis frequents.

Your mind drifts back for the umpteenth time this week to a moment you shared at HQ with Agent Miranda after you picked up your dossier for this op. “Quaint little town, nice change of pace,” she smiled as you crossed paths in the hall. Leaning forward conspiratorially, she tacked on, “Watch out for Six!”

You’ve spent one too many brain cells analyzing and overanalyzing her words- surely she meant Watch your six, and happened to mix up the idiom. But Dani was nothing if not intentional with her diction, and you swore you’d heard her correctly. If that was the case, had she and Six stayed in touch since his curious departure from the agency? Had the Sierra Six, the Gray Man, the expert silent assassin, Mister No Worldly Possessions or Connections been…asking about you?

Your passenger door suddenly flies open, the hulking form taking up space in your mind rent-free folding its way into your car, the familiar whiff of cologne forcing your coiled muscles to relax- marginally.

“Put the safety back on, cowgirl.”

“Why?” you demand, no patience for pleasantries.

“Because I like my face intact. Nails look pretty,” he juts his chin to indicate your fresh manicure, courtesy of your target’s weekly visits for fill-ins.

“No,” you refine your question coolly, retracting your trigger finger and replacing the safety on your weapon, “why are you here? In my car? Potentially blowing my cover?”

“Came to pick up my Claire, saw you,” he shrugs as if this is an everyday occurrence for two highly trained operatives, glancing at passerby and students on the sidewalk to ensure no one’s taken an interest in you two.

“Your Claire, hm?” You raise your coffee cup to your lips and take a long drag, the combination of the caffeine and heat sending your neurons buzzing.

“Kind of my niece, kind of my little sister,” he elaborates, keeping an eye out the window for her. “She’s Fitz’s niece, but y’know how our life goes,” he shrugs again, the only semblance of emotion he’ll allow himself to show. “So she’s my Claire now.”

“Court,” your lips pull into a frown and you reach for his hand on instinct, catching the subtle lift of the corner of his mouth in response. The simple gesture is enough for him to understand what you’re trying to say.

“Kid and I have a pretty good thing going here, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a lady friend in her life,” he muses softly, studiously watching the middle schoolers fly out the front doors and avoiding your gaze as if you’ll be able to see all of his vulnerabilities and insecurities in his stormy eyes.

Sensing an opportunity to break down another one of his walls, you cry out, “Why, yes, Court, I will marry you!”

He barks out a laugh and shakes his head, playfully knuckling against the soft skin of your cheek as your mouth twists into a wry smile. “Let’s start with dinner first.” He eases the passenger door open and steps out onto the sidewalk, offering you a slip of paper between his index and middle fingers through the crack of the window.

You unfold the paper to find a local address in his scrawl, calling to his retreating back, “What time?”

“Guess.”

———

You rock back and forth on your heels on the doorstep at six in the evening, a fresh bottle of the fateful white wine in your hands. The paneling detail on the front door is suddenly fascinating, allowing you to hyper-focus on anything but the nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’ve taken out corrupt diplomats, toppled drug cartels, faced some of the most dangerous men and women that the devil himself would shy away from, all by your mid-twenties, yet you’ve got butterflies in your tummy at the prospect of failing to earn a teenage girl’s approval.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure why you’re nervous. Operatives don’t have the luxury of falling in love and playing house. Sure, you enjoyed your time with the Sierra and the sex was incredible, but you both know that nothing more could ever come of this. Y’know how our life goes, Six himself had said, and he was damn right.

“You must be Y/N.” You lift your eyes to meet the brunette’s sharp gaze, her eyes quietly scrutinizing you as she does a subtle once over.

“You must be Claire,” you offer your hand in greeting and she shakes it firmly, all business.

She spots the floral tattoo on your shoulder and the corner of her mouth lifts in a manner matching that of her guardian, “I like your ink.” Claire cranes her neck to gaze further into the house and you hear a huff in response to her unspoken question.

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“Nope,” Six comes into view and pulls the door open further, beckoning you inside.

“Regretting adding that lady friend to her life?” you tease as you step through the doorway, toeing off your shoes in the corner of the foyer as Claire grumbles on about almost an adult and annoyingly overprotective.

“Not quite yet, but I’m sure we’ll get there,” he smirks at you, enjoying the way your nose scrunches indignantly in response. You follow the two of them into the dining room, your mouth immediately beginning to water at the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. “When’s the last time you had a proper home-cooked meal?” Court asks with a smile as he places your proffered wine bottle on the table.

“Properly? Ten years, give or take,” you shrug, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper as you busy yourself playing with the hem of your shirt. You honestly can’t remember the last time you had a nice dinner with enjoyable company, not at a group home or hostel, not on a honey-pot mission, not memorizing a dossier on a shitty hotel couch while forcing down a frozen meal before heading out under the cover of night.

In a surprising display of affection that makes your chest warm for reasons you don’t have time to unpack, Court presses his lips against your temple, bringing you back to the present. “Then I sincerely hope you enjoy this one.”

“And I sincerely hope you didn’t go through all this trouble just for me.”

You follow him into the kitchen to help, taking the plates Claire passes to you from the cabinet as she quietly confides, “We definitely ordered in but someone was very particular about the menu.”

You and Six fall into a comfortable silence as Claire chats about her day, setting forks on the placemats as you gently lay the plates down behind her. You watch, mesmerized, as the blonde nimbly uncorks the sweet wine and divvies it up between your glasses. Something about setting the table together, doing such a normal nuclear family activity, humanizes the two of you, and you’re surprised that the motions have come back to you so naturally.

Six eases your chair out and you smile up at him as you take your seat. Dinner progresses with easy conversation, but then the agent in you senses the shift in the air and you know the teen is gearing up for trouble.

“So…” Claire drags out the word, flaking off a piece of the immaculately cooked fish, “how did you meet Six?”

“Work,” the two of you rush out in unison, meeting each other’s gaze across the table. Claire smirks knowingly at her guardian and Six makes a face at her in response, mouthing something you can’t quite catch.

Raising an eyebrow and looking between the two of them you ask, “Am I missing something here?”

“Don’t answer that,” he threatens playfully with a pointed finger at the youngster.

She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows, and you can’t help the grin that appears on your face from their shared mannerisms. “Are you gonna let me try the wine?”

“For the second time this evening, absolutely not.”

“Fine,” Claire smiles angelically, turning her full attention towards you. “Courtland’s been talking about you nonstop for the past couple weeks.”

He growls something unintelligible and your hand flies to your mouth, hiding your chuckle in a cough.

“Don’t choke,” Court admonishes, his tone implying that he wouldn’t be too upset if you happened to suffer for just a moment.

“Thanks for your concern, Courtland,” you simper.

“As I was saying,” Claire clears her throat to redirect your attention, a smug smile gracing her features, “some days I still can’t get more than three words out of him, but suddenly he’s thinking about you and turns into quite the conversationalist.”

“That’s interesting,” you pause to sip your wine, an eyebrow arching in Six’s direction, “because he was very vocal when we first met.”

His jaw ticks and his eyes narrow at your innuendo, and you both know you’re thinking about his low grunts and growls as he fucked you all those months ago. Nothing if not consistent, he merely grunts now in acknowledgement.

“What’s the matter, Court?” you smile easily. “Cat got your tongue?”

He clears his throat and stands from the table abruptly- a bold move considering his dick is already stiffening at the thought of your soft skin beneath his fingertips once again. “Dessert, anyone?”

“You know I’ll never turn down ice cream,” Claire grins.

You scoot your chair back from the table, gathering the plates as you stand. “I’ll come help.”

“Oh, I bet you will,” the blonde grumbles under his breath, subtly adjusting his pants as he walks to the kitchen.

You purposefully brush up against him on your way to the sink and he bites back a groan. “Do you not have work to do tonight, Agent?”

“Drug pushing mommy’s gotta sleep,” you shrug, rinsing the plates off, “and so do I.”

“Just sleep?” he murmurs in your ear, gliding his nose down the curve of your neck and pressing his body against you so you can feel the full weight of his question.

You let your head fall back with a sigh offering him better access to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Court,” it’s a whine, a plea, a gentle nudge in the right direction.

“Suspiciously quiet in there!” the teenager calls from the dining room, earning herself a low, chastising, “Claire…”

“You’re quite the daddy,” you test the waters with your compliment, relishing the way his eyes flash at the title and filing that tidbit away for later.

His gaze drops to your parted lips and he licks his own before pulling away and opening the freezer. “Vanilla or chocolate?” he asks calmly, appreciating the cold snapping him back to his senses.

“Chocolate,” you hum, unable to resist the urge to slap his ass as he’s bent over perusing the shelves. He jumps at the sudden contact and you laugh delightedly at your ability to keep arguably the world’s greatest assassin on edge. “I’m not a big fan of vanilla.”

———

Your earpiece crackles to life later that night, your handler’s tinny voice coming through with, “Where the fuck are you, Y/L/N?”

“Little,” you breathe out, “busy right now.” Court grins wickedly, languidly kissing down your nearly naked body and dragging his stubble against your sensitive skin before nipping along the meat of your thigh.

“That’s not an answer. Why is your heart rate skyrocketing?”

“Oh, y’know,” you suck in air through your teeth as the handsome devil nuzzles your folds over your panties, forcing you to bite down on your hand to avoid becoming a little too familiar with your handler. “Went for a run.”

You tug sharply on Six’s locks to get him to stop, but the feeling of your nails against his scalp serves the opposite purpose. He yanks the frilly fabric covering your core down with a vengeance and presses the flat of his tongue against your folds, your hips rising of their own accord to meet his mouth halfway.

“Do you have an update for Carmichael?”

Your eyelids flutter shut when he nuzzles your clit with his nose, darting the tip of his tongue just past your wet folds. You force your eyes open and turn your head to the nightstand, focusing on the glaring 10:17 looking back at you.

“Can I get you a report in the morning?”

“Do you want to piss Denny off?”

“God, you’re annoyingly persistent,” you huff at both your handler and the blonde between your legs looking up at you with a sinful smile. “This operation goes a lot-” your voice catches in your throat and your head drops back against the pillow as Court plunges his tongue inside you, “deeper than I initially thought.”

“Elaborate.”

“I’m getting an intimate view of her soldiers,” you rasp out, subconsciously clamping your thighs around Six’s head as he eats you out like a man possessed, fingers digging into your skin to keep you down against the bed. “Need some more time to figure out their pecking order.”

“And then you’ll infiltrate?”

“Mhm, yeah, I’m close!” You hurriedly end the connection and release the wanton moan that’s been growing in your throat throughout the infuriating conversation, enjoying the way Court growls against your pussy in response. “I was serious,” you half laugh, half cry out, “about being close, Court.”

“I can feel it,” he rumbles, “so give it to me.” And then his tongue is spearing in and out of you, mapping out your most sensitive spots, curling in the most delicious of ways, devouring you, consuming you. He splays his fingers across your stomach to hold you in place as he feasts on you, his thumb moving to trace tight circular patterns around your clit and pushing you over the edge into sheer ecstasy. You cover your mouth with your hand as his name repeatedly falls past your lips like a prayer, keenly aware of the sleeping teen just down the hall.

“You look so beautiful like this,” Court sighs almost reverently, leaning on his elbows to brush his lips against yours as he smiles down at your blissfully fucked-out face.

You let your tongue slip into his mouth and tangle lazily with his, the fact that you can taste yourself on him making you delirious with desire. Trailing your fingers down his bare back, you tuck your hands under the waistband of his pants and squeeze his ass before shoving his remaining clothing down his muscular legs. He chuckles against your mouth at the sensation as he kicks off his pants and boxers, moving to kiss along your jaw as he eases his deliciously hard cock between your folds, teasing but not yet pushing into you. “Please,” you whine out, wrapping your legs around his lower back and pressing your heels against the taut muscle there, urging him to give in, to fill you up.

You confess around a gasp, “I’ve been thinking about this for the past eight months,” as Court mercifully slots himself between your thighs. He cups your jaw and presses his nose against the hollow of your throat as he rocks against you, drawing out a whine from the very depths of your being. Your heart flutters in your ribcage as he returns his lips to your own, your tongues tangling unhurriedly in a sensuous dance as he curves his hands around your shoulders and bottoms out with each gentle thrust. You realize, somewhat terrifyingly, that this doesn’t feel like your previous encounter when you were desperate to connect with another human and feel alive again. He’s taking his time with you, kissing you like his life depends on it, gently guiding you both towards orgasm. This man is leaving a brand on your soul, and you’re suddenly glad that your life is one of solitude because, you know now with an earth-shattering sense of clarity, no other lover will ever compare to him. Your chest swells with an uncharacteristic warmth at the thought as the coil in your belly snaps and you tighten around him, encouraging him to please fill me up, Court, please.

Last time, he made you feel human; now, he makes you feel whole.

You tuck yourself against his solid form, sharing lazy kisses as you card your fingers through his hair and bask in your afterglow when you suddenly sit up with a start, something Claire said over dinner having poked through your subconscious. “How long have you been keeping tabs on me?”

He rises slowly, brushing your hair onto your shoulder and pressing kisses to your neck. “Hm?”

“Court,” you admonish softly, “how long?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbles, now nibbling along your jaw in a blatant attempt to distract you.

“Claire said you’ve been talking about me for weeks. I’ve been here for eight days. Fess up.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Oh my god,” you smack his chest with the back of your hand as another realization dawns on you and he winces playfully. “You knew I was getting this op before I did!”

He falls back onto the pillow, folding his arms behind his head to watch you put the pieces together and making you want to forego your interrogation in lieu of wrapping your legs around him once more. “Did I?”

“And,” you force yourself to focus, “you have been tracking where I am through Dani, which means I’m not crazy and she really did say ‘Watch out for Six’!”

“Did she now?”

“I’ve been trying to convince myself she said ‘Watch your six’ for longer than I’d like to admit.”

“Loud guns have been known to cause hearing loss.”

“Courtland,” you growl out, “that is such a gross breach of confidentiality.” You huff, crossing your arms before begrudgingly admitting, “But it’s also weirdly sweet.”

“In that case,” he smiles angelically, “I’ve been checking on you since you walked down that hallway in Prague.”

“You could’ve called. Emailed. Relayed a message through Dani. Sent a fucking pigeon or something.”

“Y’know, the kids call it ‘tweeting’ these days.”

“You are-”

“Hilarious? Charming?”

“Infuriating,” you grumble, tugging the bedsheet up over your body and purposefully lying down facing away from him. He wraps one arm around you and effortlessly pulls you closer, your smaller form perfectly slotting into the curve of his large body. “I don’t like you.”

“Yeah? Glad we cleared that up,” he counters easily, slipping his arm under your head and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Courtland.”

“I will forever regret telling Claire my name.”

———

You wake the next day with a smile on your face, enveloped by the slightly spicy, woodsy scent that you’ve subconsciously come to associate with a sense of security. Rolling onto your side with a groan, you find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt neatly folded into a pile in place of Court’s body. You wash up in the bathroom before donning the change of clothes, cuffing the pant legs to fit your petite frame. Following the scent of brewing coffee, you head into the kitchen and are greeted with the sight of Court in a strikingly similar casual outfit, hovering over the stove.

“Morning,” you hum, slipping onto one of the barstools and leaning your chin in your hands.

“Good morning,” he answers over his shoulder in return, stealing the very breath from your lungs with a dazzling smile. “Clothes fit okay?”

“Okay enough,” you laugh, sticking your leg out from behind the island counter so he can admire your handiwork.

“Good,” he nods once in approval, then turns his attention back to the stove. “Got some scrambled eggs and bacon going, coffee should be finishing up.”

You hop off the stool and snag two mugs from the cabinet, filling them nearly to the brim with room for a dash of creamer and enough sugar to satisfy your sweet tooth. The two of you move as easily through preparing breakfast as you had on your mission eight months ago, the memory bringing a smile to your face. Claire joins you in the kitchen a short time later, dropping her backpack onto the stool you’d vacated earlier and sharing a smile with her guardian as he slides a plate in front of her. “You two enjoy your sleepover?”

“Hey,” Court snaps his fingers with his eyes narrowed playfully, “eat your breakfast and get your ass in the car within the next fifteen minutes, Fitzroy.”

“You’d think you’d be in a better mood this morning, Gentry,” she shoots back, a gleam in her eye as she scoops up a forkful of eggs.

“Incredible, it’s like pay-per-view,” you mutter delightedly over the lip of your mug.

“You should hang out here all the time, we’re very entertaining,” Claire offers nonchalantly, and Court turns to you with one eyebrow quirked.

“What’s this whole thing you’ve got going on?” you question, pointing to your own brow. “Does that mean you concur?”

“I was gonna offer myself, but I wanted to talk to the kid first,” he shrugs with an easy smile. “I’ve stayed in enough of the agency’s sad apartments to know that our place is a substantial improvement.”

It turns out to be much more than a substantial improvement.

Over the next three weeks, you find yourself seamlessly blending into the household, using the two of them as your cover on family outings to track Oasis and her family. You and your once impromptu partner team up again on Friday nights, going on dates at the restaurants your target and her husband frequent- and God, does the blonde clean up nicely, a simple pair of slacks, a tight shirt, and a jacket accenting his muscles in just the right places. Most days, you return from your time ingratiating yourself with Oasis’ right hand men to Court and Claire either working at the dining room table or spread out on the couch watching a movie, a spot under the blanket calling your name. Court has taken to making your coffee just the way you like it every morning (all the while ribbing you about how it’s arguably more sugar than caffeine) while you prepare three lunches for the day ahead. He waits for you to return home every evening so you don’t dine alone, and you climb into the king-sized bed together every night, sometimes exploring each other’s bodies until dawn breaks, sometimes cuddling and talking about anything and everything until you drift off to a suspiciously restful sleep.

You find yourself lulled into a level of domesticity that you could get used to, a thought that both scares and excites you to your core. It’s the closest you’ve come to being part of a family in years, and the idea of losing it when this op ends makes your heart ache with a pain you swore you’d locked away the day you joined the agency.

———

“I’ve got the popcorn!” you sing, inelegantly flopping onto the couch and tucking your legs under you with the bowl in your lap on your fourth weekend at Casa FitzGentry, as you’ve come to privately call it. Court takes up his spot next to you, Claire settling into his other side before situating the large blanket across your little group and nodding for you to scoot the snack into Court’s lap. You reach forward to press play on the remote, starting yet another cheesy heist movie that you and the former Sierra enjoy critiquing as thunder rumbles in the distance. Halfway through the film, the power flickers momentarily and you and Court share a look, his hands almost imperceptibly tightening their grip around the two of you. Claire huffs quietly, used to the agent’s slight paranoia from a life spent looking over his shoulder, but she tucks herself further into the crook of her guardian’s arm nonetheless. The rest of the movie progresses uneventfully, and Claire lets out a yawn before bidding the two of you goodnight, smiling as you both insist that she lock her door- at least for tonight.

Assured that the teen is safe in her windowless room, you and Court decide to take up residence on the couch for the night, the living room being closer to Claire than the master bedroom down the hall.

“Court?” you whisper into the darkness, absentmindedly pulling his hand into your lap and tracing random patterns along his rough palm as you watch the hallway, the former Sierra’s eyes trained on the front door.

“Hm?”

Genuine fear- not for yourself, but for the young girl you’ve come to appreciate as a friend and the closest thing you’ve got to family- roils in your gut, rearing its ugly head and reminding you why operatives don’t form connections. “I’m sorry for bringing this home.”

A flash of lightning illuminates the ranch house, and you hone in on a figure clad in all black in the hallway, your eyes narrowing, jaw setting, heart rate kicking into gear. Court squeezes your hand in acknowledgment before you part, and you creep silently down the hall, an animalistic growl escaping your throat when you recognize the door the intruder is gearing up to kick down. The point of your elbow connects with the soft flesh of his throat, reducing his shock to nothing but a soft gurgle as his hyoid bone gives way with a sickening crunch. He falls to the floor gasping for breath and you take the advantage to climb on top of his body, straddling his hips as he weakly tries to fight you off. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and bodily slam his head against the hardwood floor once, twice, three times, your breath coming in sharp intervals through your flared nostrils.

A strong pair of arms twists around your waist and you turn sharply, ready to fight for your life until a soothing, “Easy there, easy,” floats over your ears in the pitch darkness.

Your heart rate immediately starts slowing and a vague memory about a reflex in the aorta flashes unbidden through your mind from a high school science class. “I’m good,” you nod with a sniff, shaking out of Court’s grip.

“Yeah?” He flicks the hallway light on, raising an eyebrow at the crimson scene painted before you. “You usually don’t get this messy.”

“My targets usually don’t threaten my family,” you respond coolly, dragging the body away from Claire’s door before leaving to call your cleanup crew. Mind racing with tactics to accelerate your endgame and annihilate Oasis for this blatant attack, you miss the smile that flashes across Court’s face at your mention of your little crew as family.

You turn at the sound of crunching gravel as you end your call, the sight of the still-half-asleep teen splayed across Court’s back causing warmth to rise in your chest again, a feeling that’s occurring a tad too frequently for your liking around these two in particular.

Feelings make you weak, weakness makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability ends with a trip to the morgue.

Court drapes Claire along the backseat of your sedan, tucking his jacket under her head as a pillow before slipping into the passenger seat as you fold yourself behind the wheel. You take a circuitous route to your assigned rental apartment to ensure you’re not being followed, and you carry the minimal luggage Court hastily threw together as he piggybacks the teen upstairs. After getting Claire situated in the small bed, the two of you sit shoulder to shoulder on the floor at the foot of the bed as she sleeps, both your eyes and your silenced weapons trained on the apartment door.

As the first streaks of sunlight bathe the room in warm hues, Court allows himself to nod off knowing that you’ll keep his Claire safe, his head lolling against your shoulder. You press your lips to his forehead, whispering three words that you haven’t uttered in over a decade, tears welling in your eyes at the realization that you can, in fact, still feel such depth of emotion. A renewed sense of purpose grows within you as the sun rises, and by the time your two sleeping beauties awake, you’ve made up your mind.

———

“Oasis has proven herself to be a greater threat than we originally anticipated. Permission to execute.”

“Negative, Agent, we need her alive and in custody to connect the dots on the expansion of Rainbow in other areas throughout the Midwest that you’ve uncovered.”

“Terry,” you rarely address your handler directly, hoping your use of his name forces him to understand the weight behind your words, “she’s willing to go to extreme lengths to protect this operation. She sent a hitman after my- to my apartment,” you recover quickly, cursing yourself for allowing a semblance of idyllic family life to affect your judgment. How had you managed to make such a mess of things?

“Christ, Y/L/N,” his sigh crackles through your earpiece. “Any idea how your identity got compromised?”

“None,” you answer honestly, disappointed in yourself for not only failing to complete your mission cleanly, but also for putting the people you’ve come to care about at risk. “What’s the exfil plan here?”

“Y/L/N? It’s Carmichael.” Oh joy. “Proceed with the op as planned, but accelerate the execution phase to tonight. Bring her into custody and then report to HQ tomorrow morning so we can figure out how exactly you fucked this up.”

“But she knows who I am, knows what I look like.”

“Are you saying you can’t get it done?”

“No, I-” you pinch the bridge of your nose and release your breath in a slow exhale. “I’ll figure it out and report back to you when I have her detained.”

“Good girl.”

———

You slip back into the apartment just after three in the morning, peeling off your jumper soaked through with blood, sweat, and rain, slumping against the door with a sigh. After a few breaths to compose yourself, you shuffle further into the apartment and are met with Court sprawled across the small couch, his arm draped over his forehead. He mumbles something under his breath and you move closer. “What’d you say?”

“Asked if another cunt was successfully incapacitated,” he repeats, the shock of his question and impeccable memory causing an incredulous giggle to escape your lips.

“Fuck,” you hiss through your laughter, instinctively grabbing at your smarting ribs. “That bitch is lucky my directive was to have her detained. Otherwise she’d be six feet under with her boy toys right now.”

You lift his legs up, easing your sore body onto the couch before laying his legs back down across your lap. “You don’t have to go, Y/N.”

Your eyes dart to meet his baby blues, piercing through your soul in the darkness. “I didn’t say-”

“You made up your mind this morning. I could hear it in your voice.”

“Courtland,” you sigh, pushing your hair off of your sweaty face.

“Don’t government name me,” he grumbles, moving to sit up and pull your head against his chest. You’re shaking, but you can’t pinpoint whether it’s from exhaustion, fear, or a mix of both. “You’re a damn good agent, but you don’t have to be a CIA pawn for the rest of your life. You can go into private work, too.” His fingers trace a gentle pattern along your spine, encouraging you to take as deep of a breath as you can muster in your present condition.

“I haven’t done my time, haven’t helped enough people. I mean, Christ, Court, you were in the game for how many years and they still wouldn’t-”

“Hey,” he cuts off your panicked rambling with a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “You know there’s no contingency plan for people like us. You either kill the bad guys or you die trying, and that used to be good enough for me until…” He trails off, looking toward the door Claire is fast asleep behind.

“If anything, anything had happened to you two because of me-”

“I know,” he placates softly.

You lick your lips and open your mouth to speak before thinking better of repeating your confession from the morning out loud. Instead, you let Court guide your body down on top of his, snuggling against the warmth of his skin and allowing the steady rise and fall of his chest to lull you into a much needed rest. “In the morning, you’ll go to your debrief, and then we’ll figure this out,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. “And kid?” You stay quiet, trying to control your breathing despite the fact you’re sure he can feel your heart pounding through your chest in anticipation of what he’s about to say. “For the record, I feel the same damn way about you.”

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