#mythscar

[killshield]

            "we should really stop meeting like this.” 

            he looks better. more clearheaded, less hairpin triggered. contusions mottle his skin but he stands straight; ward has to give credit where it’s due. there’s much to be said for a man who can take that brutal a beating — request it, no less — and come out of it stronger than he went in.

            “i have something for you. but before we get into that ... how do you feel?”  /  @mythscar​.

#mythscar #au / a hybrid signal: both shelter and warning at once.

[foradecision]

mythscar sent :    ‘ yeah? and how come? ’

     crane blinks, like the question throws him off. like it should have been glaringly obvious — or would have been, to anyone else. anyone outside the garrison. anyone who isn’t under the thumb of a man so far removed from what he used to be that not even the barest trace of a conscience is left behind.

     this guy’s young, but his eyes are already cold.

      “— because your boss is a fuckin’ monster, that’s ‘how come.’”

     flashbulb memory of a severed hand on a blood - splattered crate, and that was rais being merciful. that was rais on a good day.

     “look, i’m only doin’ this for the antizin, that’s it. i’m not his goddamn errand boy.”

#ans.* #mythscar #i. do not go gentle into that good night.* #teehee (^:

[killshield]

            “so, what do you think? place could use some TLC, i’ll admit, but it’s still quite the upgrade from that fishbowl you were in. i noticed they at least gave you the good pillows. anyway — coffee?”   /   @mythscar​.

#mythscar #au / a hybrid signal: both shelter and warning at once.

[foradecision]

     it’s dawn. humidity rises to close over harran like a lid, locking in a hazy golden fog as the morning sunlight shakes off last night’s storm. his trek to the garrison was a blur. the aches are bad; his anger is worse. rais’ secondary stronghold looms tall in front of him, tri - slashed flag rippling in the breeze. he made it.

     uninvited, but far from unannounced. 

     “hey!” metal pipe slamming against the barred iron gate, a shuddering, reverberating clang. better than a doorbell. “i’m here, assholes! i wanna talk to rais, and i wanna talk to him right fuckin’ now, so you’re either gonna open this gate or i’m gonna blast it open. i don’t care if every viral in this goddamn city hears. one —”

     “holy shit — crane?”

     “motherfucker’s still alive?”

     another loud clang as he hits the gate again. “two!”

     “alright, alright! fuck — open it!”

     maybe rais told them not to shoot on sight. maybe they don’t yet know what happened at the safe zone. either way, he throws down the pipe and grabs the nearest guard, slamming him against the base of his post with a forearm across his throat. 

     “tell your boss to get his ass out here, before i really lose my fuckin’ patience.”

#mythscar #i. do not go gentle into that good night.* #crane: sweaty and upsetty #i forgot we have to do this first

[foradecision]

mythscar sent :    ‘miss me?'

     "more like disappointed you’re still vertical. i thought for sure rais would’ve killed you for that fuck - up at the garrison — if i didn’t know any better, i’d say he’s losin’ his touch.”

     because of course it could never be simple. of course a run for crayons had to turn into another round with the butcher brigade. jade radioed them with the intel, said some of rais’ thugs were seen moving crates in and out of the school, but roman was the last person crane wanted to see. 

     well. maybe second to last. 

     the urge to empty his clip into the guy’s face is strong. he fights the impulse, as he’s done before, but not for his own sake. not for roman’s, either. it’s for deanna. they don’t know she’s with him, and he intends to keep it that way. 

     a few more minutes. that’s all he needs. after that —

     “i’m startin’ to get bored of this dance, roman. you and i both know, it’s only gonna end one way.”

     but not here.

     not yet.

     he wets his lips. lowers his sidearm and slides it back into its holster. a gamble, no worse than any he’s rolled the dice on before. roman hasn’t made a move. why, crane can’t begin to guess. maybe his leash is just that short these days. his muscles give him away regardless: coiled tight, tension radiating across the set line of his jaw, and still, he hasn’t moved.

     a few more minutes. just buy her a few more minutes.

     “shit, man,” crane scoffs. “c’mon. nut up. you couldn’t take me out — christ, you couldn’t even keep a fuckin’ seventeen - year - old kid in check. he bested you. so what the hell’s rais even keepin’ you around for?”

#mythscar #ans.* #i. do not go gentle into that good night.* #ok so in game canon it's tahir at the school but. what if (tm) #also 'bored' lmfomfmskfksmg boi. please

[foradecision]

" you have no idea what you've unleashed. " / roman.

     “no — no, maybe i don’t, but you know somethin’ else? if i’m in over my head, then you’re right fuckin’ there with me.” 

     the low scoff, the subtle curl of roman’s lip, it’s a reaction that crane expects. it’s in line to darken, to escalate, the more he pushes on; this is dangerous ground, he knows. but roman hasn’t reached for a weapon. hasn’t moved to strike.

     not yet.

     “you think suleiman gives a shit about you? seriously?” suleiman. not rais. his voice is steady, for once lacking a hostile edge toward his present company. “he’s lying to you, roman. he’s been lying to you, because he’s good at that — at playing people, using them for his own fucked up gains. when was the last time you asked him about your sister?”

     a twitch. roman is listening, but the ice beneath crane is thin. 

     he keeps going without more than a beat of a pause, quick to close the cracks left for an interruption.

     “when was the last time he gave you a real answer, huh? jesus, you’re too goddamn smart for this. in your gut, you can feel it — that nasty, nagging feeling? damn near makes you sick half the time? yeah. that’s doubt, man. you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me that whatever bullshit story he’s been feedin’ you adds up. don’t you wanna know the truth about what happened to her? after everything you’ve done for that motherfucker, don’t you at least deserve that much?”

start some drama  /  @mythscar.

#mythscar #ans.* #i. do not go gentle into that good night.* #:eyes: :lips: :eyes: #hmmmm i miss these messy bois #sit down lil socio we got TEA

[killshield]

            they’ve become quite the paradox. shield, unironically, and spear; unstoppable force and immovable object. two incompatible premises with an uncanny ability to piss each other off. 

            the intel that had fallen into ward’s lap two weeks prior would have been inconsequential to anyone else. it was an easy connection to make: one of sunil bakshi’s close associates, a low - ranking member of old hydra, apprehended by SHIELD agents during a routine sweep of a former base of operations. ward harbored no delusions as far as allegiance went; what he’d done to bakshi was enough incentive for anyone to flip. no coincidence that this follows so closely on the heels of roman briggs’ jailbreak. coulson needed the excuse, and ward’s schedule happened to have an opening. 

            a change in the very air between them as soon as they’re alone. charged; alive, like the air before a storm.

            alone. curious, ward notes, that coulson doesn’t hide behind deathlok this time.

            he holds up a photograph, a full - color freeze - frame printed off the footage from a surveillance camera. not an accident: a challenge. 

            “nice glamour shot,” he says dryly. 

            ward smiles. “should’ve had it framed. not my best angle, but —”

            “c’mon, ward.” what curves the line of coulson’s mouth isn’t amusement. “let’s skip the pleasantries. we both know you’re not that modest. you wanted my attention? congrats. you got it. now tell me what you want with briggs.” 

            “it’s funny,” ward muses, disregarding the second half entirely, “you say that like i ever lost your attention in the first place. and here i thought you had bigger fish.”

            “it’s a wide net.” 

            “is it.”

            “you exposed yourself to break him out of a secure facility crawling with agents, most of whom would kill to see you back in a cage. why?” 

            again, the question is ignored. “you tried that. didn’t work out so well.”

            “you wanna know what i think?”

            “not really.”

            another tiny, humorless uptick. coulson leans forward on the table, wary, measured where ward is relaxed. 

            “i think you might be just deranged enough to believe you’re actually doing him some sort of favor. that in your own backwards, twisted way, you’re setting him free, when all you’ve really done is take away his only chance at starting over.” 

            deranged. deluded. same song, ward thinks disinterestedly; different verse, albeit only by a key or two, if that. his brow arcs. 

            “right. a clean break, no more looking over his shoulder — sounds familiar. it’s a good speech. almost had me fooled the first time around. second time, not so much. don’t patronize me, coulson. SHIELD was neutralizing a threat, nothing more, nothing less.” 

            “and you took it upon yourself to willfully unleash that threat,” coulson says. “so i’ll ask again — why? i’m sure you did your homework. roman briggs is an unknown variable, a powder keg ready to go off. some might say he’s a liability. i know you, ward. you’re way too calculated to bet on that kind of horse.”

            “see, that’s the difference between us.” ward cants his head a fraction of an inch to one side, arm poised, elbow bent, along the back of his chair. “where you saw a wild animal that needed breaking, all i saw was potential. an opportunity.” 

            “an opportunity for what? don’t tell me loyal henchmen are in such short supply these days that hydra’s resorted to bargain - hunting from SHIELD holding cells. oh, speaking of —”

            “henchmen, or shopping trips? sounds like a date.” 

            “loyalty. you’re already slipping. how do you think i managed to track you down?”

            “educated guess — ? bakshi’s guy folded like a cheap suit the moment you promised him protection. how’s he enjoying SHIELD custody so far?” 

            “you’re good.” 

            “and you’re predictable. you didn’t just come here to talk about briggs, and you definitely didn’t come without backup.”

            a grim smile, peppered with skepticism. “but i’m supposed to believe you did?”

            “well — yes and no.” something almost metallic flickers behind ward’s eyes, a hollow - point spark. slow pull to draw a cellphone from his pocket, his opposite palm mildly raised at the spasm of movement across from him: coulson, on reflex, twitching toward a weapon. ward regards him with another scant raise of brows and connects the call with the successive press of two buttons, then a third to put it on speaker. still watching coulson, he says, to the receiving end, “how are we looking?”

            roman’s voice. calm, steady. “target secured. ready to move on your signal.”

            coulson boomerangs his focus; ward, down to the phone, up again to ward.

            “good. hold position and wait for the green light.” the way his mouth curves at each corner isn’t a smile, not even the facsimile of one. it’s a quiet taunt, preceding the ghost of something thoughtful that falls short of sincere. “you know, SHIELD still has a surprising number of active safe houses, and most of them really aren’t that hard to find. couldn’t have been fury, he was too cloak - and - dagger for that. so it must’ve been your call, huh? pretty careless, director. seems you’re already slipping.”

            a muscle tic. the flare of both nostrils. otherwise, coulson is composed; ward will give him that. “quit screwing around, ward — what did you do?”

            “yeah, i don’t screw around, you of all people should know that. and i haven’t done anything, at least — not yet. if he doesn’t hear from me in the next fifteen minutes, though,” he gestures with each hand, a blown out breath, mimicking an explosion. “different story. you’ll be down half a dozen agents, just like that. good people, too. i checked. so, the question is, are you willing to make that sacrifice just to take me in? you know you won’t be able to hold me. you never could.”

            “you’re bluffing.”

            “like i was bluffing with may’s ex - hubby? c’mon, coulson. maybe it’s been a while since we’ve exchanged christmas cards, but things haven’t changed that much.”

            no. they’re past that. 

            “okay.” aside from the shadow that crosses his gaze and the barely perceptible curl of his lip, coulson maintains neutrality. or what passes for it. "then answer me one thing.”

            a beat. ward waits, unmoved. 

            “what’s randall prescott have to do with any of this? what was so important that you and briggs went all the way to portugal to murder a guy who’s been off the radar for years? i’ve seen briggs’ file — they were in the same orphanage, back in the day, but after that, it’s quiet. no connections, or none that left a paper trail. so what is it about him? what’s the significance of executing a defected hydra agent and his wife in cold blood? on their anniversary, no less, but you probably knew that.”

            “they had a falling out.” in deference to coulson’s look, he elaborates, “prescott and briggs. wanted to reconnect, dig right down into the roots of their true feelings. i’m not a shrink, but i really think they made some progress.”

            “ah — so that’s what this is.” the look shifts from uneasily perplexed to comprehending, disparaging. “a revenge kick, just like you manipulated agent 33 into. figures. i mean, after you shot her to death, you were a clyde without his bonnie. should’ve known it was only a matter of time before you found yourself a replacement.”

            the first slip of emotion — visceral, raw, but securely contained, effectively distilled — comes out in the brusque undercurrent of a scathing tone. “and what about you, coulson? you find your replacement yet, or can you still not shake the memory of rosalind bleeding out in your arms?”

            a mirrored response. “i’m not the one who slaughtered her, you sick son of a bitch.”

            “but she’d be alive if it weren’t for you. let’s skip the pleasantries.” ward’s jaw works at the curve, hard and sharp. the hint of a sneer. “as for what happens next, you have two choices. i get up, and i walk out, and you tell your reinforcements to stand down — or, six SHIELD agents pay the price. they’ll die quick, which is more than i can say for you. so what’ll it be? we’ve got about,” he tips his wrist, checks his watch, “nine minutes left. and trust me when i say, he isn’t the ‘no news is good news’ type.” 

            “you’re not walking out of here, ward. i won’t make that mistake again. it’s over.”

            “shoot me, then,” ward invites, arms spread as he rises to a stand. “end it, right here, right now. you’ll still lose some of your people, but ...”

            “i’m never gonna stop,” coulson levels out, as he, too, gets to his feet; levels, although emphasis catches on every word like his tongue is serrated, “you do know that, don’t you? that for the rest of your short, miserable life — no matter what you do, ward. no matter where you go, or how far you run, i will always be right behind you.”

            “and that’s just it, coulson.” ward lowers his arms and smiles. no warmth reaches his eyes, nor the deep well of shadow around them. “you’ll never be able to catch up.”

            he moves, and almost anticipates coulson to follow. 

            he moves, and almost expects an icer to the back. maybe a real bullet. maybe they’re past that, too. 

            he moves, and coulson stays. 

            at the door, he pauses to catch coulson’s eye one last time. 

            “give my best to the team,” he says. “you know — for old time’s sake. i’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.” 

#debrief. #au / a hybrid signal: both shelter and warning at once. #this is a mess but it's fine #mythscar #coulson tag.

[killshield]

me: damn i need to rewatch some stuff to refresh my muse

me talking to @mythscar for .2 seconds: aaaaand he’s awake

#THIS IS NOT A DRILL RFKLSMDLKMFSDFS #wHAT HAVE WE DONE!!!!!

[foradecision]

crane surviving that shitshow w @mythscar and then popping back up has the same energy as “god let me live another day and i’ve decided to make that everyone’s problem”

#thx for coming to my ted talk. im gonna scream