I know, I know. I shouldn't be writing another new fic… but I couldn't help myself. It's got nothing to do with wrestling but please read anyways. Thanks. Always thought a non-wrestling fic between these two would be fun, but this is a bit darker than my usual stuff. Still trying to get around to the other fics. After all these years, I finally got to see a real live WWE event in June. No Cena, but it was still fun. Let's go Cena!
Also, I know this was a while ago but still… The week after the proposal at Wrestlemania, during Superstar Shakeup, did anyone else find it weird that Mickie got moved to Raw? I didn't really mind but still a bit odd. C'mon, she already got the ring, how was Nikki still insecure? Still want to see a match between those women, though.
I own nothing except the words on the page. Please read and review. Thanks
Promise Me No Promises
"We cannot let our respect for the FBI blind us from the fact the FBI has sometimes come up short of our expectations." – Orrin Hatch
"John, stop giving your life to the FBI because you made the wrong call last time."
"It's not that I don't want this kind of life with you Mickie… That's just it. I shouldn't want this life… Especially when he's still out there."
Chapter 1: Relocation
Richmond, Virginia.
Crimson, like wine in the lipstick stained glass beside the lifeless blonde. Not the cheap stuff by the smell of it. The fluid continues to run along and flow in all directions, seeping into the maze of cracks of creaky, disjointed floorboards.
He loves the thrill, the temptation; the moment of ecstasy, the moment of nothing but pure power.
He revels in it. He has a desire only idle hands know and that only creative hands can control, fulfill. He was the master of terror in the theatre of deception.
Leaving behind a trail of mayhem, fear as he is the nightmare of the night. Bullets and blood disengage and dart into fabric and flesh, inflicting pain, punishment… pleasure.
Damn.
He knows he's too good. Is he sick? Probably. Maybe. More like passionate or genius.
Like his drunk daddy did, he pours a glass of Chivas Regal – swirls it, smells it, and raises it. He salutes to no one in particular, while the silence that soothes him. His index finger taps against the rim before his smirking lips sip long, slow… savoring its smoothness. As he does this, the ice cubes clink against the crystal tumbler.
In another part of town…
Richmond, Virginia.
Home of the Founding Fathers, a bunch of horse stables and…
The new home of John Cena.
Yup, Boston native John Cena is now calling Virginia home.
Technically, he's been to Virginia, having trained in Quantico before graduating and being assigned to the FBI Field office in Boston as a Behavioral Analysis Unit profiler. But still…
Anyways, as John gets out of his black SUV and looks at the quaint house in front of him that he now calls home, he receives a text from his boss Vince outlining the current case. The text ends with a dire warning for John not to fuck up the case. That was not an option for Agent Cena.
As a 28 year-old, 6"1', blue-eyed, muscular guy and decorated FBI agent in Boston, it's surprising for John to be assigned to Richmond, Virginia. He knows why he's here but he just doesn't get why this location… It's not like serial killers run amuck among the horses.
However, the briefing prior to the move cleared all hesitation in John. Whether he had a team or not, John had to take this assignment…
It was… personal.
After walking through and exploring his new fully furnished place, John was pleased to find a 12-pack of Budweiser waiting for him. John took a pull of his beer, the cool amber liquid soothing his dry and scratchy throat.
His fingers traced the outline of his badge: SSA Agent John Felix Anthony Cena of the FBI.
Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity.
Words that meant more to him than the average agent. Along with the words: Hustle, Loyalty, Respect.
Especially now.
John was a selfish, reckless bastard. He knew that about himself. Probably wouldn't change either. He's done a lot of really bad things.
But the FBI saved his life and ever since, he's been trying to pay it forward.
Yes, there are days that don't turn out well, but when he sees the smiles of those he had saved over the years… Well, he hasn't seen those days in a while. John felt shattered, isolated, and alone, rather than rewarded for his actions. In a way, this case was more than just righting a past wrong, but also a time for self-reflection. Only, he didn't know that at the time.
The next day, John ventured out into the community and managed to get lost among some tall grass.
"Hey! What are you doing here? This is private property."
John turned towards the source of the feminine voice.
Accompanied by a big, white horse loudly neighing, stood a petite woman, probably a foot shorter than John. With a bunch of carrots in one hand and the other on her hip, she repeats herself.
John was speechless.
He kept staring at the beautiful woman in front of him. Real subtle, man. Her brunette hair was in a simple ponytail and she wore a purple tee and jeans, with some knee high brown boots.
"Sorry got lost. I'm John." John holds out his hand, hopeful she'll shake it.
She doesn't. And the horse beside her snorts.
"I'm Mickie. Well John, keep getting lost… just not on this property."
John laughs at her remark. She's feisty. He kinda likes it. John could only look at her, intrigued. Just because she wasn't flirting with him, that didn't mean he couldn't start. But then he remembered the number one rule on assignment.
Don't get attached.
Oh, how he wished he listened. It could've spared them all the pain (emotional and physical) down the road. As mentioned earlier, John was a selfish bastard and that wasn't going to change.
He just couldn't help himself.
She may not have known it yet, but Mickie couldn't either.