Living In Stereo

Summary:

Desha Knox voluntarily agrees to be placed on Waller's Task Force X. And where she goes, River is sure to follow. Deadshot doesn't know what to make of the silent woman, or her snarky friend.

Author's Note:

This is my first attempt at a S-Squad story. This is also going to be Deadshot/Desha and Diablo/River romance. I really enjoyed watching the movie and of the stories I have read, I haven't come across anything quite like this one, so...yay. Of course, my original characters do have their own tragic backstory, and I will do my best to make them original characters while not giving them too much 'mary-sue' tendencies.

|o|

Chapter One
Human

'I've been damaged, left in ruin
'Cause I'm broken, flawed and human'
-Hellyeah

She lost time. She doesn't remember quite how long it was since they were taken, but each death weighs heavily on her mind. They days drag on and blend together until she wishes for nothing more than an end to it all.

She lost her spirit. Every death brought by her hands stains her thoughts, some faces she forgets with time. Each time she is forced into the Pit, she triumphs. Each time she is forced to impose her will on others, she feels herself grow distant and her heart grow cold.

She lost her control. Even as a rescue team breaks through the doors of the well-hidden compound, they arrive too late. She remains crouched, like a predator waiting to pounce, a massacre surrounding her in a bath of blood. Her teeth bare in a feral immitation of hackles raising at the approaching soldiers. When they state who they are and what they are there for, she is silent before a low, meniacle laugh begins to escape her. They were far too late to help.

She lost her will to speak.

"She's just inside, Ma'am."

Nodding to the nurse, Director Amanda Waller enters the private visitor's room. Pausing just in front of the door, her gaze sweeps over the lone figure sitting at the table. Dressed in thin white hospital scrubs, the youthful looking woman seems far more frail that Waller would ever expect her to be. Straight black hair falls to her waist, slightly unkempt. Even with her attention on the table, the very air around the woman bleeds awareness, though her body doesn't give any outward signs. It is only when Waller finally takes a seat across from her that the Director finds herself hiding back the flinch as ice-green eyes lift.

"Hello, Knox."

There is no response, but Waller doesn't expect one. As far as Waller knows, in the last three years, Desha Knox has only spoken a handful of words, and it was to the same person.

"I'm sure you are wondering why I am here, so why don't we move past formalities and get to the point?" Knox lazily raises an eyebrow, giving the Director a pointed look. "I have been granted permission to inact the Task Force X Project. You are among the potential recruits." When Knox gives a deliberate show of leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, Waller nods, "I understand you are retired, but with recent actions and the rising threat of Metahumans, we need to have a contingency plan in place. I want the best that the worst can provide and your record is perfect."

Knox's expression of disbelief shifts, eyebrows narrowed as her gaze grows a few degrees colder.

"There must be something you want that I can give you. I can get you out of here. Let you live a normal life," Knox doesn't bother hiding the snort of disbelief, "Surely there is something you want."

There is a heavy silence that follows, Waller watching as the thoughtful gleam deepens in the ice-green eyes. Knox holds out a hand, palm up, and crooks her fingers in a 'gimme' motion before pantomiming writing. Waller slides over her pen and watches as Knox's sharp, slanted script dashes across the page quickly.

Pierce. I join your team on a volunteer basis, you use ARGUS's far reaching resources to locate Pierce, if he is even alive.

"Pierce is still MIA?" Waller is surprised.

Everyone else is accounted for. I want him found, or at least confirmation that he is dead.

"That's it?"

I want River brought in. There is no one I trust more, and I can't promise the safety of the team from my own hand if I don't have someone I know I can trust.

"Very well."

We are both here on a volunteer basis. If you do anything to force your will on us, or if I feel you aren't holding up your end of the bargin, I will show you exactly what I remember from my time in the Pit.

Waller can't help the small shiver that travels up her spine. She had seen the pictures of the rescue mission and none of it was pretty. Knowing that someone so youthful-looking and so small can cause such chaos is enough for Waller to tread carefully.

"I understand," Waller moves to her feet. "Your effects will be granted to you during missions. Be prepared to leave at a moment's notice."

Knox gives her a sardonic, almost mockingly hurt look; her lips twisting in a sarcastic smile as her fingers wiggle in Waller's direction.

Released from his chair, Floyd Lawton, better known as Deadshot, instinctively takes in his surroundings. He recognizes the familiar face of Gotham City's Queen of Chaos, Harley Quinn, and he heard enough tales of the tattooed ex-gangster, Diablo, to be weary of the pyrokinetic, and the carnivorous reptilian man, Killer Croc. Absently rubbing the side of his neck, his gaze sweeps to the idiot Aussie a couple of soldiers release from the confines of a body bag, before he takes in a crimson-haired woman standing off to the side, tapping her foot impatiently. The woman must sense his gaze, because he finds a pair of hazel-gold eyes turn on him.

"River Hart," she greets, the curvy woman dressed in simple, civilian clothes holding out her hand expectantly, "You must be Deadshot."

Shaking her hand, Deadshot cracks a smirk, "What? Are you psychic or something?"

"I am actually," River replies matter-of-factly, the sudden silence that falls across the inmates causing her to roll her eyes, "Relax, I don't just randomly read the minds of every person I come across. Trust me, I got control of that shit pretty fucking quick, because let me tell ya, teenage boys are pigs."

Deadshot hears a loud cackle come from Harley, a smirk pulling at his own lips as he remembers his own thoughts as a teenage boy. Obviously, he isn't the only male among the inmates to find her honest words amusing. River's attention is pulled from them and a second later a high-pitched squeal pierces the air and the red-head shoves pass the surrounding soldiers. His gaze follows after the red-head, his finger digging into his ringing ear, and watches as she launches herself at a smaller woman, who just stepped out of a SUV.

"Oh my God! I can't believe you're actually here without a pane of glass between us," the red-head greets the new woman, a genuinely joyful smile on her lips.

The woman wrapped in the embrace is tense for longer than normal, but awkwardly embraces River, patting her back. Once she is released, Deadshot finds his eyebrows shooting upward. The woman is barely five-foot-five, and unlike the red-head's hourglass curves, the new arrival's body is petitely built, the curve of her hips slight and waist narrow. The plain white scrubs causes Deadshot to realize the woman wasn't an inmate; she was a patient.

Her dark hair is longer than most women keep these days and he watches intently as River tosses an arm over her shoulders without a care, leading her back to the inmates. He takes in the round, youthful face; pale from a lack of sunlight, and finds himself staring at a pair of green eyes. And he means green, like the seas had been frozen over, crystal clear and sharp.

"Who the hell is the new Sheila?" the Aussie questions aloud.

River drops her arm from the woman's shoulders, "Desha Knox is an old and very dear friend of mine. Desh, this is Boomer, Killer Croc, Diablo, Harley Quinn and Deadshot."

Desha only offers a small nod of acknowledgment, her gaze sweeping over each of them with a calculating gleam Deadshot had only ever known himself to have. It is her gaze that tells him that she is like him. A professional.

A giggle from River pulls him from his thoughts as she eyes her friend, "Seriously? She let you watch? What did you think?" The youthful face finally breaks from its blank expression as a small smirk tugs at pale pink lips. Realizing that River is reading the woman's mind, Deadshot feels a sense of discomfort flicker through him when the red-head cackles, "I can't believe that just came out of your mouth!"

"Hate t'break it to ya, Sheila, but your friend didn't say anything," Boomer interrupts.

River's expression flickers with surprise before the red-head sheepishly rubs the back of her neck, "Oh, I forgot I still do that with you," she says to her friend, who shrugs and something must have passed through because River's smile falls, "This is gonna get awkward pretty fucking quick."

"What exactly was it that was funny?" Harley asks, "Cause, I love to laugh."

"Oh?" River jabs a thumb in Desha's direction, "She said Waller allowed her to see video footage of Deadshot's 'tryouts'," Deadshot's eyebrows shoot up when the red-head actually uses air quotes with her fingers, "and she said she found it so impressive she was pretty sure her ovaries are waving white flags."

Deadshot hears Harley cackle, but he watches as the silent woman swiftly lashes out and jabs her knuckles into River's shoulder, who winces, "Okay, that wasn't what she said, but it takes a lot to impress, Desh. I figured the embelishment would show her appreciation for your skills."

As if she is used to it, Desha simply rolls her eyes with an aggrivated huff.

"Alright, listen up," the man identified as Colonel Rick Flag calls out.

Deadshot rolls his eyes as the man goes into a monologue of how they have bombs in their necks, they follow his orders or they die. Harley makes a comment about naturally being a vexing person and Deadshot smirks at the crazy little woman. A series of trunks are set out and Flag orders them to get suited up and ready. He is finished getting dressed, reminded once again how much he likes putting this thing on, when he catches the sound of a hushed conversation.

River is already dressed, the woven fabric of a zip-up body suit hugging every curve of her body, a light blue underbust corset cinched around her waist. The only weapon on her person is a gun holstered on the outside of her right thigh. Her red curls are pulled up in a high ponytail.

Without an ounce of shame, Desha stands clad in a simple pair of black leather pants and a black sports bra. Every inch of her pale skin is on display and Deadshot finds his gaze tracing over the numerous scars before he zeroes in on an insignia of some kind burned into the back of her left shoulder. Swallowing thickly when he recognizes it as a brand, he wonders if it is part of the reason behind her perpetual silence.

"So, exactly what are we supposed to do with a Sheila that don't talk?" Boomer asks, and not silently either.

A gleam of silver flashes through the light of day and Deadshot follows it before he sees a silver throwing knife buried into the trunk of Boomer's things, a centimeter or less away from his fingers curled over the edge of the trunk's lid. Desha turns back to her own things as River lets out a cackle upon seeing Boomer's wide-eyed stare. The dark haired woman removes a vest made of a deep forest-green, almost black, leather. Slipping it on, Deadshot realizes it is a specialized vest, corsetted bodice that is most likely lined with Kevlar; and hooded as well. Without pause, she then moves to pulling on a pair of forearm gauntlets, black metal protection plates resting on the top and underside of her forearms. Boomer is obviously annoyed at being ignored and throws the knife back at the silent woman's back, who more-or-less plucks it out of the air with practiced ease, sliding it into the sheath along the side of her combat boots.

"How the bloody hell-" Boomer falls silent when River wiggles her fingers in his direction.

"That would be instinct." River offers with a shrug of the shoulder.

Deadshot continues to watch as Desha begins stashing various throwing knives on her person. An odd sixteen-inch long metal cyllinder slides length-wise into a convenient sheath located along the small of her back. The last items that Desha removes from her trunk is a small black device, about as thick as his pinky finger, is clipped above the zipper of her vest. An odd, small circle of silver sticks itself to her left temple and she pulls out what looks like an IPod.

"Everything workin' okay, Desh?"

'Is this real life? Or is this fantasy?'

Deadshot blinks when River lets out a snort of humor, "Really? Queen?"

'Don't hate me, cause you ain't me.'

River shoves the dark-haired woman playfully, "Arrogant bitch."

Desha tilts her head thoughtfully before shrugging a shoulder, nodding. 'Can't touch this.'

"That's how she communicates?" Harley asks, earning nods from both women, "How's it work?"

Desha points to the circle stuck to her temple, then points to the IPod before bringing her hand to the device clipped to her vest, which Deadshot now recognizes as a small speaker.

"That's pretty sweet, girl," Diablo comments softly.

River nods, "Yeah. Think of her like Bumblebee from Transformers." At the blank looks, she heaves a self-deprecating sigh just as Desha smirks, her gaze flicking to her dark-haired friend, "Shut up." Desha rolls her eyes as River turns her attention back to the inmates, "The IPod gets updated with as many sound-bites as possible, movie quotes, song lyrics, or any dialogue that has been recorded in our history."

"Where did you get something that advanced?" Deadshot wonders aloud.

Desha's smirk falls just as her friend winces before replying, "An old friend spent months creating it for Desha's sole purpose."

"Behold the voice of God." Flag's voice calls out before he holds a tablet up for them to see.

The face of Amanda Waller greets them.

Reclining in her seat, eyes shut as River takes the time to plait her long black hair into her signature braid, Desha listens intently as Flag makes a comment about Deadshot being the type to 'cut and run'. Desha doesn't personally see it. Deadshot isn't the type that is afraid to get his hands dirty if it means surviving. It is a quality Desha carries a respect for. Flag, being in a position of leadership, isn't going to win himself any points if he keeps pissing off the team. In fact, they would sooner leave him for dead if he didn't show an ounce of the respect that is deserved.

"So, we got a pyro and a creepy psychic. What about you, Miss Mute?" the Aussie's voice grates on her nerves and her eyes slowly open to stare at the annoyance sitting across from her, "What is it that you do?"

"She kills people," the familiar voice of her friend states matter-of-factly.

"So, she's like me?" Deadshot questions curiously.

'We're not doing this for money.'

River snickers at the movie quote, nodding her head in agreement, "What she said. Nothing against your work, Deadshot, cause like I said, you are quite impressive, but that isn't what we do."

"Waller said you were soldiers," Flag cuts in.

Desha can't help the glare she shoots in his direction as River sits upright in her seat, "Soldiers? That stupid bitch has the nerve to lower us to something as simple as soldiers?" Desha can't help the responding smirk she offers when River turns to her and says, "We should have killed her when she had the chance."

"So, if you aren't soldiers, and not assassins, then what are you?" Killer Croc demands.

"Oh, Desha was an assassin, an assassin for ARGUS," Waller obvously didn't clue Flag in, Desha notes upon seeing the Colonel's blatant shock, "And I worked as a stealth, infiltration operative."

"So, what did you do to end up here?"

'Guillotine dreams, yeah, their guillotine gleams
The blood of their enemies watching while they sentence me
Sentencing ceased, sentence deceased
And watch 'em bask in the glory of their holy disease.'

It happens out of reflex, really. It had been a few years since she used the damn thing, but she watches as River once again nods in agreement, "A mission went as south as you can get and..." River shifts slightly in her seat as she ponders over her words, "things were different. We were dismissed from employment with ARGUS."

"She was locked up in a ward," Harley Quinn states, pointing at Desha, "but you came in civilian clothes."

"Where she goes, I go," River says so thoughtlessly, so easily that Desha feels a familiar tug at her chest.

It had never been easy for Desha to make connections with other people. Even in the early years of her childhood, she never had many friends. High school had made things worse when she figured out exactly how different she was from the people around her. So, she isn't sure when and how she managed to gain such strong loyalty from her friend, but Desha had known from their first meeting that River had been different from the others.

There are five of them. Four men. One woman. She vaguely hears as she is introduced to them, blank eyes observing them. Standard parade rest, spine straight, shoulders squared, hands folded along the small of their backs. Such typical soldiers.

"This is Desha Knox. While you are with us, Knox is your CO. Her words will be your law. Any consequences in going against her orders are fully sanctioned and will be dealt by her own hand. Is that understood?" At the various nods, the man turns in her direction, "I will leave you to your team. Good luck, Knox."

Left alone in the room, her blank gaze turns back to them. She doesn't say anything, assessing each of them. It is during her assessment of the blonde man that she notices a shift off to the right of her vision. Immediately zeroing in on the red-haired woman, Desha allows an eyebrow to quirk.

"Is there a problem, Hart?"

"ADHD, Ma'am. It's gotten easier to manage over the years, but still there."

Desha allows another pause of silence to fall over the group, "The five of you are to report to your quarters and get settled in. You will be awake and ready by O-Six-Hundred and we will begin a series of training regiments put together that will determine your strengths and the weaknesses that can be improved or accomidated. You are dismissed for now." As the five break out of their parade rest and begin heading for the door, she calls out, "Except you, Hart."

The four men don't look back as they exit the room.

"Did I do something wrong, Ma'am?"

A hint of irritation flickers through her, "First, I would ask you not to call me Ma'am. I may be the leader of this team once we are granted active clearance, but I am no one's superior." She watches the red-head nod slowly, "And in order for this team to perform at their peak, I require honesty."

"I'm sorry, Ma-" Hart stutters as Desha's gaze sharpens, "Knox. I don't understand."

"Not only do your records show no history of having Attention Deficeit Hyperactive Disorder, but you also fail to exhibit familiar traits shown by people who do have it," Desha sees hazel eyes widen in surprise, "I can understand not wanting to announce anything to strangers, and you have every right to have your personal secrets, but I have very little patience for lies."

"I'm sorry, Knox."

Desha nods curtly, "As I will be in the position of this team's leader, I need to be made aware of anything that may hinder your ability to do your job." She can see the hesitance, and almost immediately a memory tugs at the back of her mind, "You are a Metahuman."

The red-head startles, fear instantly sparking through her posture as she takes a step away from Desha, "H-how?"

"You show familiar tells of a Metahuman that fears what they do," Desha supplies calmly, slowly watching as the other woman's posture relaxes slowly, "What is it you do?"

"I'd rather not say, Ma'am." Desha glares, once again, "I mean, Knox."

"Hmm.." Desha crosses her arms, just under the swells of her breasts, fingers tapping along her upper arms, "I will give you tonight to give thought to telling me on your own terms. If not, I will have to force it out of you."

"You mean to torture me?" Desha watches with interest as the red-head slips out of her military-drilled respect, eyes flashing with anger, "So I am allowed to keep secrets, only for you to torture it out of me anyway? You can just do that to people!"

A small trickle of amusement flashes through Desha, "Were you not listening when you were told that retribution dealt by my hand in accordance to your own actions is completely sanctioned?" Desha pivots on her heel, heading for the door, "Besides, who said anything about torture? There are several ways to get information out of a person."

"I'm psychic!"

Desha pauses, hand on the knob of the door, "How?"

"Because I'm a Metahuman," the snarky tone causes Desha's lips to twitch.

Turning around, Desha eyes the red-head curiously, "I mean in what capacity are you psychic?"

Flushing with embarrassment, Hart rubs at the back of her neck sheepishly, "I can read minds. I can also do telekinesis, but my control is iffy at best."

"You can control your ability to read minds though," Hart's gaze gleams with surprise at Desha's assumption, "Otherwise you would already know that I had no intention of torturing you." At the following silence, Desha shifts her stance, not sure how to approach someone on a personal level, "While your telepathy is sure to be an asset, your skills with telekinesis are bound to be even more of an asset. We will have to build up your control." Desha turns back to the door, "Get to your dorm and get some rest."

"Wait! It...doesn't weird you out, like at all?"

Desha pauses once again in her attempt to leave the situation, tossing a glance over her shoulder, she sees the hesitance and self-conscious disposition. That...will not be conductive to the team. She'll have to work on that.

"Believe it or not, your ability is not the strangest or the most dangerous I have come across," Desha hopes her features have softened enough to appease to the other woman's sensitive nature, "If it makes you feel any better, I will keep this between us for now. At some point, the rest of the team will need to be made aware of your gift."

"Thank you, Knox."

Without a response, the door shuts behind Desha's retreating figure.

Something hits the heilo. Desha jolts out of her thoughts when a familiar tremble crawls over the compartment. They were coming in too hot. There was no way they could statistically survive this unless they were properly restrained. If the heilo hits the ground on its nose, this rescue mission would be pointless.

Her thoughts running a mile a minute, Desha feels a familiar hum ghost over her body and feels the heilo shift in the air. Inhaling deeply, she closes her eyes and settles in for the ride.

Author's Note:

Quotes used in this story are as follows:

Songs:

Bohemian Rhapsody -Queen
Can't Touch This -MC Hammer
Sell Your Soul -Hollywood Undead

Movies:

'Don't hate me, cause you ain't me' - White Chicks
'We're not doing this for the money.' -Spaceballs