And no wonder
Hearts and minds have been won
How does it feel
And I wonder
How it’s all come undone And the rain comes
And the world is on my head
Crave the sun
But I can’t get out of bed
[Gonna hang around for five more songs then I am off until tomorrow after volunteering.]
[ She opened her eyes as he pat her, letting out a soft huff as the question came up. Rough day didn’t cut it. Running a hand through her hair, she tried to conjure up words that would explain how tired she was. ]
"I think the fact that I’m going to become an incubator for nine months to a tiny human being is the only thing keeping me going. That makes me happy. That, and maybe the medical leave that I’ll end up being provided later on as well— does that sound cynical? It’s the exhaustion talking, I swear.”
”Cynicism is normal for people like us.”
[His smile was wry as his memories lingered on his own beginning stages of pregnancy; while glad that she was looking forward to it, he had to wonder how much that attitude would change when she spent a few hours a day throwing up.
Baby Teller’s never made it easy on their mothers.]
“Maybe you should grab vacation time if you have it- it’s probably not a good idea to be too tired or too stressed when trying.”
[ Ana let herself in on her own accord— well. She would have knocked, but her presence was so frequent that she didn’t expect it to be too much of an issue. Especially since it wasn’t an oddball hour. Seeing Lee at the armchair, she went and settled on the sofa, scrunching up on her side. He looked pretty damn into his tablet right now, so she stayed quiet, shutting her eyes and turning to lay on her back. ]
[His eyes flick up to his friend, borderline house mate and taps the screen, pausing the show and shifting the headphones from his ears. The real world hits his ears, sending sparks through his mind that he learnt to ignore long ago; instead he smiles and pats the nearest part of her.]
Samuel was dead and Liam’s hands shook, shook even as they wiped the gun down and tucked the now empty weapon into a pocket. His wrists hurt, his ears were bleeding and he could feel the tightness that signaled an incoming migraine begin to gather. First step done, he finally allowed himself to drop onto the cold, bare concrete and retch, retch until his stomach hurt as much as his head and reflexive tears formed in his eyes. His information and memories had been faulty, almost proving to be his downfall.
Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled himself onto his feet again, eyes closing tight against the pounding and the sparks in his head. All he wanted to do was lie down and rest his head on the cold, but that wasn’t an option. He had to move before somebody came looking and there was evidence he had to destroy. Trembling hands gathered the ropes that had so recently bound him (his own b l o o d stained the strands from his struggles) and he hissed as the pressure intensified in his head.
It was almost too early for Liam, sitting slouched in the waiting lounge of the airport, half listening for his boarding call. While Kaleb had been sent off to parts unknown for what sounded like paperwork duty, Liam was being sent off one (hopefully) last time to Detroit. The information from DM 09932 had confirmed that the target that he’d been after for the past two years was really back in the city.
He was being sent to finish it.
He was going with minimal equipment- meaning that all that was in his duffle was a change of clothes, a small bundle of cash and a burner phone. The knowing look Ewyk had given him when he had been told that how he did it was all up to him- including acquiring any weapons. Ewyk- and by extension, SHIELD- knows about my past. Picked because he knew, knew the ways of the life he was infiltrating and how to get the tools he needed.
Like being a fourteen year old thug again.
At least after this last mission, the odds of him ever seeing Detroit again were slim; a fact that made warmth flood through his chest and a small smile tug at his lips. The last time he would have to visit the more run down areas, the places that felt like home to the part of him that had been happy as half a street kid. The last time the name Jason Turner would be spoken, unless it was by those in New York City; the final nail in the coffin of his past life, the last silent death that would be attributed to the boy he had been.
The target, Samuel Brooks, had been the first person Jason Turner- and Liam, by extension- had killed for. The price had been cheap, too; a rifle worth a few thousand British pounds and a couple more thousand dollars in cash. The money had gone on to be spent on Mel; enough to cover the cost of her broken arm and to get her some new clothes so she had a bit more of a chance to fit in at school. Liam did not miss being dirt poor.
He was going to kill the man who turned him into a killer in the first place.
[’Generation Kill' plays on his tablet, knees bracing it as he scrunches on the armchair, coffee going cold on the table next to him. The sound is muted by his headphones and it's obvious he's engrossed.]